


Better Start Praying

by Cydersyrup



Series: Mad Intelligence [5]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Arranged Marriage, Assassins & Hitmen, Attempt at Humor, Blood, Bottom Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung, But Just At The Beginning, Chaos, Crack, Domestic, Emotional Constipation, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Mild Gore, Non-Linear Narrative, Past Character Death, Sexual Content, Strangers to Lovers, These Two Need Help, Top Nakamoto Yuta, actually it's forced but that's beside the point, lots of headassery, questionable decisions are made
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:09:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 28,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25706434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cydersyrup/pseuds/Cydersyrup
Summary: Behind every great man, is an absolute madman.
Relationships: Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung/Nakamoto Yuta
Series: Mad Intelligence [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1715650
Comments: 146
Kudos: 385





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to installment #5 of my agent AU~  
> Buckle up darlings we're goin' on a ride (>v<)

_“The mission is simple, Doyoung,”_ Taeil says over his earpiece. _“I’m sure I don’t need to elaborate for you to understand.”_

“Get in, kill everyone, and get out,” Doyoung replies, fixing the garrote cord currently serving as his bracelet. “Easy.”

_“Don’t get cocky, Doyoung.”_

“I’ll try, sir.” Doyoung fixes his blazer as he steps into the grand hotel lobby. “So, who’s watching me?”

_“Sicheng and Kun are on the premises as well. Once you get the job done, leave immediately.”_

“Yes, sir.” Doyoung cracks his knuckles as he steps towards the elevator. The excitement of spilling blood is bubbling so strong inside him he can almost taste it. “Would you prefer I keep things clean? Or can I be a little messy?”

Taeil sighs. _“Do whatever you like.”_

* * *

Turns out, there really are only two things that the lowest humans can ever care about: money and sex.

Which is why Doyoung toughs through the knife pressing against his wrist, watching in glee as the man before him coughs out blood as Doyoung twists his own knife in the thug’s abdomen.

“All the money in the world,” he whispers as the man before him continues to bleed. “And you can’t even find a proper escort.” He pulls the knife out, and the man falls to the floor, slitting Doyoung’s wrist in the process.

“Shit.” Doyoung picks up the knife used against him and tucks it into his sheath right by his own. His wrist has a long gash across it and is bleeding into his sleeve, but Doyoung ignores the pain in favor of surveying the room. In addition to the body before him, there were four others—two slumped near the sliding balcony door, another propped in an armchair, and the last one lying halfway under the coffee table.

They put up one hell of a fight, Doyoung will give them that. One of them had a gun and almost blew his head off, but Doyoung managed to slit his throat before he could try again. The others weren’t bad, either. He’s gotten some pretty bad punches in, and they’ve paid him back in full.

Maybe even more, Doyoung thinks, because his right ankle pulses with pain every time he takes a step. He’s positive he sprained it in the skirmish, and now on top of that, he’s losing blood too.

Time to leave.

Before Doyoung can fix his blazer properly to cover his bleeding arm, the door to the suite opens, and immediately Doyoung has a gun drawn and pointed at the intruder.

“Woah there!” the newcomer exclaims, raising both hands and taking a step back. He’s young—around Doyoung’s age—and attractive. A well-sculpted face. Casual clothing. Lots of jewelry.

“Who are you?” Doyoung hisses, cocking his gun. “What business do you have here?”

“Look, I don’t want any trouble,” the young man says. “Name’s Yuta. Nakamoto Yuta. I’m here to steal back something these guys took from me.”

Doyoung’s eyes narrow. That name is foreign and unfamiliar, yet Yuta speaks perfectly fluent Korean and seems to know his way around this neighborhood. Doyoung needs to keep his guard up. “So, a thief.”

“One of the best,” Yuta salutes. “And trust me, I don’t blame you for killing them. They had it coming. Now, if you don’t mind, there’s people coming after me, and I really need to get my shit.”

Doyoung keeps his gun raised. “Fine. Take what you will. Then leave.”

“Sure.” Yuta pauses, eyes raking in Doyoung’s form. “What the hell did they do to you?”

“That’s none of your concern. Take what you want and beat it before I shoot you too,” Doyoung bites out.

Yuta prances into the room, immediately wreaking havoc as he turns over furniture and tears open bags. “Okay. Just not through that door again. They’ll murder my ass.”

“Unfortunate.”

“Not a people person, are you?”

“Depends on the company.”

Yuta smirks and goes back to his rummaging, entering and exiting rooms as fast as a bloodhound on a fresh trail. Doyoung follows him, limping slightly and never letting down his gun as he watches Yuta flip over mattresses and pull open drawers.

After almost fifteen minutes, Yuta finally squawks in triumph, exiting the bedroom he was in and holding up a watch in his hands. It’s expensive, crafted from a silvery metal, and embedded with small crystals.

“A Rolex?” Doyoung asks incredulously as Yuta fixes the watch around his wrist. “You came all the way here because some goons decided to take your fucking _watch_?”

Yuta frowns. “This isn’t just any watch. It’s...an heirloom. Of sorts.” He looks up, locking eyes with Doyoung. “Anyways, what’s your name, Mr. Killer? Or do I have to call you that for the remaining time we’re here?”

Doyoung narrows his eyes. “Not happening.”

“Aw, come on!” Yuta whines. “I gave you my name willingly, didn’t I? And it’s my real one too!”

“And for that, you’re an idiot.”

“Don’t be so uptight, damn.” Yuta rolls his eyes and checks his watch. “Do all assassins or whatever the hell you are walk around like hell ate them up and shoved a hot rod up their ass?”

Doyoung snorts. Yuta’s got a mouth on him, and Doyoung would like nothing more than to land his fist against it, but there are more pressing matters at hand.

“Forget it. I’m leaving.”

“Wait!” Yuta calls. “You’re hurt pretty bad, though.”

His voice is concerned, and Doyoung can almost believe that Yuta genuinely cares. “I’ve been through worse,” he replies, treading carefully over to the front door. “Goodbye.”

“No! Wait!” Yuta dashes over and plasters himself against the door, effectively blocking Doyoung’s way. “You can’t leave through here, they’ll find us both and kill us!”

Doyoung arches a brow. “Who’s _they_?”

“People. Bad people.” Yuta licks his lips, looking suddenly terrified. “They’ll torture me to death and shoot you on the spot. We should leave by the fire escape.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” Doyoung snaps, turning away from Yuta and limping towards the sliding glass doors. “My business here is done. And so is yours, apparently.”

Yuta huffs and trails after him, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. “Okay, fine. Fine then. We both leave, and forget each other in a week. So Mr. Killer, can I get a name for a face I’ll never see again?”

Doyoung sighs. This guy is really out for it, and he’s damn tired. “Name’s Doyoung.”

“No surname?”

Doyoung scowls. “That’s none of your business.”

There’s a sudden loud bang from outside the suite, and both men snap their head over towards the noise. Several voices follow, low and gruff. Yuta sucks in his lip between his teeth and curses.

“Shit. They’re onto me.”

“Just who the hell is following you, Nakamoto?” Doyoung snarls, moving his gun to aim at the door as the noises grow louder. His shift in position accidentally puts more pressure on his bad leg, and Doyoung almost buckles, if Yuta didn’t reach forward and grab his arm in time.

“Woah. You okay, Doyoung?”

“Don’t touch me,” Doyoung snaps, brushing off Yuta’s hand. “What type of threat could a thief like you possibly warrant? More thugs? Other black market thieves?”

Yuta shakes his head as he makes his way towards Doyoung again. “No time to explain. We’ve gotta go. Get on my back, come on!”

Doyoung swats Yuta’s hand away. “I would rather die.”

“Look, you’re hurt bad and shit’s about to blow in this joint,” Yuta says quickly, tugging on Doyoung’s arm as the footsteps and shouting grow closer and closer. “Either you listen to me right fucking now, Doyoung, or you’ll actually die!”

Doyoung doesn’t move. “Nice of you to consider me. I’ll see you in hell, then.”

“Oh, you fucker! I should just—” Yuta’s head whips around as the voices draw closer. “Fuck it. We’re leaving now.”

Before Doyoung can protest, Yuta pulls him off the floor and hauls him over his shoulder fireman-style. Doyoung’s heavier than he looks, but Yuta’s panicking and the adrenaline dulls the strain as he pulls open the sliding glass door and books it for the fire escape. 

“Nakamoto!” Doyoung hisses as Yuta begins speeding down the steps. “Put me down! Put me the fuck down or we’ll both fall!”

“Your opinion is being evaluated,” Yuta deadpans as they hit the third floor. “And I deem it bullshit.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re a pain in the ass,” Yuta snaps back, rounding another bout of stairs and descending at breakneck speed. “Less talking, more escaping.”

“I will NOT be known to be associated with criminals like you,” Doyoung spits.

“Jesus Christ.” Yuta hits the ground floor and tosses Doyoung off, ignoring the withering glare the latter shoots at him. “I’m not in it for the hell of it, Doyoung. We all gotta make a living.”

“Then find another job.” Doyoung picks himself off the ground and dusts off his clothes. His ankle throbs when he puts pressure on it, but he bears the pain and forces himself to stand. “All that potential and street smarts, wasted on something as ridiculous as being a thief,” he continues. “When you can actually put those skills to some good use.”

Yuta scoffs. “And I assume you have an idea where I should be, then?”

“As a matter of fact, I do.”

“Oh, pray tell then, smart one.”

“Fine.” Doyoung nods minutely, gaze staring at something past Yuta. “Then I hope you sleep well.”

“Sleep? What—” Yuta cuts off as his eyes roll back and his body pitches forward, unconscious. Doyoung catches him before Yuta hits the ground, and shifts his eyes to the man standing right where Yuta has fallen.

Sicheng stares back, expression bored and a single needle pinched between his fingers.

“Interesting method, Sicheng,” Doyoung says in effortless Mandarin. “What was in it? Tranquilizers? Barbiturates?”

“Acupuncture,” Sicheng deadpans, stepping over Yuta’s motionless legs and jerking a thumb over his shoulder. “How goes the mission?”

Doyoung flicks his tongue over his teeth. “Childsplay.”

Sicheng doesn’t look amused. “Your wrist is bleeding onto the pavement and your ankle is sprained, if not broken.”

Doyoung silently curses Sicheng’s acute observational skills. “Nothing but a small price to pay.” He readjusts his grip on Yuta, hoisting the man higher. “And I found a new recruit. Taeyong’s been complaining about needing some new blood.”

“How do you know we can trust him?” Sicheng asks, flanking Doyoung’s side and helping him drag Yuta to a nearby car.

“We don’t.” Doyoung taps his earpiece with his free hand. “Director Moon?”

_"Yes, Doyoung?”_

"I’ve got a potential recruit, sir. May I trouble you to look him up?”

 _“Nakamoto Yuta, is it?”_ Taeil says. _“I heard your conversation earlier. Let’s see what we can dig out.”_

“And while you’re busy with that, sir,” Doyoung strains as he manhandles Yuta into the backseat. “I’ll keep an eye on him.”

Sicheng clears his throat. Doyoung arches a brow at the Chinese agent, and notices Sicheng pointing at his arm, which still hasn’t stopped bleeding. Blood trails down his skin and soaks through both his shirt and blazer, making red drops over the fabric of the car’s seats.

Doyoung nods, even though he knows Taeil can’t see it. “Right. Sicheng will keep an eye on him. I need to meet with Jeno for a blood transfusion.”

* * *

“And now we’re married,” Yuta concludes, giving his husband a nudge and laughing when Doyoung glares back at him. “How many years has it been? Three? Four?”

“Try five,” Doyoung sighs, running a hand over his face.

Jisung gawks at them both in awe from where he’s sitting with the other junior agents in the lounge. “So after you saved Agent Kim, did he just fall for you, Agent Nakamoto?”

Doyoung scoffs. “As if.”

“You totally did, don’t lie,” Yuta says. “Nobody could resist my charm for long. Including this stone-faced asshole next to me.”

Donghyuck snickers and doesn’t bother hiding it. Jisung elbows him in the side as Doyoung shoots the junior agent a glare. “So Agent Nakamoto, what business were you involved in back then?”

“Ah, that?” Yuta presses a finger against his lips. “It’s a secret. I’m not telling.”

All heads turn to Doyoung. “Agent Kim?”

“Grand theft,” Doyoung deadpans, ignoring the betrayed squawk Yuta lets out. “Without even knowing it, I managed to both kill a group of notorious embezzlers and capture a world-class thief while I was at it.” He shifts his gaze to Yuta. “White Lion my ass.”

“Hey! I saved your life!” Yuta protests. “I _married_ you!”

“It wasn’t even a proper marriage ceremony,” Doyoung snaps in return. “Taeyong just shoved a marriage certificate in our faces and made us both sign it.”

“At gunpoint.”

“Yuta, there was no gun.”

“Might as well be, with him holding the stapler over our heads like that. You don’t know what that thing’s capable of.”

“Wait,” Donghyuck interjects. “The chief forced you two to marry at stapler-point? What the actual fuck?”

“It was a consensual agreement.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

“I didn’t mind marrying a handsome man.”

“I minded marrying a criminal.”

“You love me.”

“Debatable.”

“Well, from what I’ve seen, you two make a great couple!” Jisung beams, blissfully ignoring the couple’s banter right in front of him. “You’re the agency’s top assassins and infiltration agents. I’ve studied both of your files—erm, not to sound like a stalker or anything. But thing is, your records are awesome! And you don’t try to kill each other on the regular, so it’s a win!”

Yuta looks like he’s about to say something, but Doyoung slaps a hand over his mouth before he can even manage to open it. “Thank you, Jisung. That’s sweet of you.”

Jisung positively preens at the compliment, before checking his watch and standing up. “Oof, I almost forgot I have training today. C’mon Hyuck, let’s go.”

“But I wanna hear more!” Donghyuck whines as Jisung pulls him up. “Hyungs, tell us more about your legendary matrimony!”

“Legendary?” Doyoung echoes.

“Matrimony?” Yuta asks. “I don’t even know what that means.”

“Marriage, idiot.”

“Oh.” Yuta looks between his husband and the rookie agents waiting on them with expectant, hopeful gazes. “Well kids,” he says with a fond smile as Doyoung’s elbow subtly bumps against his. “That, you don’t need to know.”

* * *

“Nakamoto Yuta, age twenty-one, from Osaka, Japan. Nicknamed the White Lion in the Underworld. Crimes: multiple counts of grand theft.”

Doyoung adjusts his ankle brace and looks up at Taeil. “ _The_ White Lion? The same one who pulled that multi-million-dollar heist in Macau last year? The one who stole the Sleepless Ruby out of an airtight safe? The master thief that no law enforcement in Asia can keep track of for years? That one?”

Taeil nods, glancing over at Yuta’s unconscious form lying on the infirmary bed next to Doyoung. “Yes. That one.”

“You’re telling me this guy’s one of the world’s most wanted thiefs?” Doyoung asks incredulously. “Sir, there’s no way.”

“Oh, there is.” Taeil adjusts his eyepatch and nods at Yuta’s direction. “Face it, Doyoung. What intelligence agencies and police all over Asia failed to capture, you caught without even realizing.”

“Sheer dumb luck,” Doyoung mutters, and he wishes that he can believe it himself. “Either way, he’ll be an asset to the agency, if we train him right.”

“I don’t doubt you on that. Now—” Taeil crosses his arms over his chest. “—when will he wake up?”

Doyoung shrugs. “Soon, according to Sicheng.” He glances around the infirmary. “Where’s Taeyong? I need to brief him.”

“He said he’s getting something and will be right up,” Taeil replies, taking a seat on the chair next to Doyoung. “In the meantime, we might as well keep Mr. Nakamoto company.”

Doyoung sees the shift in Taeil’s eye, and he doesn’t like it. “What’s going on, sir?”

“Hm? Nothing, Doyoung. Why?”

“You have _that look_ in your eye.”

Taeil looks genuinely confused. “What look?”

“The one where you know something I don’t and are unwilling to share with me,” Doyoung clarifies. “ _That look_.”

“Doyoung,” Taeil sighs. “Listen, please don’t be mad at me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sir.” Doyoung means it. It’s impossible to be upset at Taeil. You’d have to be inhuman to achieve any form of distress towards that man.

“Well, Taeyong found a...rather permanent way of keeping Mr. Nakamoto under supervision,” Taeil begins. “And well...he’s just getting the legal forms for it.”

“Oh.” That isn’t nearly as bad as Doyoung thought. “Okay. Understandable. No problem, then.”

Taeil still looks uneasy, but his posture is more relaxed than it was a second ago. “Yes. Oh, he’s waking up.”

They both turn towards Yuta, who groans and shifts in the bed, blinking open his eyes blearily and looking around. “What...where am I?” he croaks.

Taeil is by his side in an instant. “You’re safe, don’t worry,” he assures in a soft, gentle voice. “You’re in an infirmary.”

Yuta pushes himself up into a sitting position. “Infirmary of where?” he asks suspiciously. "Who are you?"

"My name is Taeil," Taeil says patiently. "I'm the IT director of this institution."

"This institution being...?"

“Neo Culture Technology,” Doyoung pipes up, stepping into view from behind Taeil. “Seoul headquarters.”

Yuta levels him with a flat stare. “That literally tells me nothing.”

“Wait until Taeyong comes, he’ll explain everything,” Doyoung says in lieu of a proper explanation.

"Who's Taeyong?"

As if on cue, the doors of the infirmary open with a loud click, and Taeyong comes rushing in like a whirlwind. He's holding a folder in one hand and the other is tucked stiffly behind him as he speed-walks over to their little gathering. Doyoung doesn’t think he’s ever seen the man so frantic before.

“Taeyong? What’s wrong?”

His question goes ignored as Taeyong rounds the corner and stops just short of Yuta’s bed. “Oh good,” he says. “You’re up, Mr. Nakamoto.”

Yuta chuckles nervously. “Call me Yuta. You must be Taeyong.”

“That’s correct.” Taeyong pulls out a couple papers from the folder in his hands and places them on the nightstand by Yuta’s bed. “Now, before we proceed with further explanations, I need both you and Agent Kim to sign this.”

Doyoung’s eyes narrow. “Sign what?”

Yuta’s head perks up. “Agent Kim?”

“Yes. Agent Kim Doyoung,” Taeyong says hurriedly, gesturing to Doyoung. “This gentleman right here. Now, if you’d please.” He hands Yuta and Doyoung each a pen.

Doyoung picks up the forms on the nightstand and scans it over. He barely gets two words in before feeling his blood pressure spiking. “Taeyong,” he says very calmly. “This is a marriage certificate.”

“A what?” Yuta balks.

“I know.” Taeyong pulls out a stapler from behind him, holding it in a way that could easily be interpreted as both casual and ready to smash their heads in with. “Please sign it.”

Doyoung glances over at Taeil, hoping the plea for help is evident enough in his eyes. Taeil shrugs apologetically. He doesn’t help.

“Taeyong—”

“Please. Sign. It.” Taeyong smiles, bright and chipper despite the potentially deadly weapon in his hands. “Yuta. Doyoung.”

Doyoung turns. “Director Moon—”

“I’m sorry, Doyoung.” Taeil really does look sorry. “Just sign it, please.”

“You want us to get married?” Yuta asks, eyes shifting from Doyoung to the papers in his hand to Taeyong. “Why?”

Doyoung is only vaguely concerned as to why Yuta doesn’t bring forth the fact that they’re practically strangers. Or the fact that Taeyong isn’t telling them anything without them signing the certificate. 

“Taeyong,” Doyoung tries to reason. “Would you please just tell us why you want us to do this?”

Taeyong’s smile doesn’t falter. His hand tightens around the stapler. Taeil backs away just an inch or two. “Everything will be explained, Doyoung. ONCE you sign that piece of paper.”

“But Taeyong—”

“Doyoung.” It’s Taeil who speaks this time, hand wrapped gently but firmly around Doyoung’s wrist. “Don’t argue.” He drops his voice a little. “Please.”

Doyoung looks at Taeyong. The look he receives is bright but calculating. He looks over at Yuta, and the other man only looks confused. Taeil’s hold on him is a comforting anchor, but an anchor to what, Doyoung has absolutely no idea.

“If I don’t sign this you’ll probably pull out something worse,” he sighs, feeling all the fight drain from him as Taeyong continues to stare at them. “Fine. Have it your way, Taeyong.” Doyoung gathers the certificate in his hand and shoves it at Yuta. “But he signs first.”


	2. Chapter 2

The thing about their marriage is this—forced or not, Yuta and Doyoung make things _work_.

Sort of.

“Listen, I don’t know why Taeyong wanted me to marry you of all people, but I’ll tell you this much,” Doyoung says as he and Yuta enter their new agency-owned apartment. “You stay out of my business, and I’ll stay out of yours.”

Yuta hums and drops his single duffle bag off to the side as he surveys the fully-furnished apartment. “We’re married now. Your business technically is my business. Besides—” his eyes dart towards Doyoung and narrows slightly. “—you’re the one who brought me into this. Deal with it.”

Doyoung takes in a deep breath and closes his eyes. “Murder is not allowed. Taeyong will have my ass.”

“What?”

Doyoung opens his eyes. “Shit, I said that aloud?”

Yuta laughs, and it’s a loud, full-bodied sound. Doyoung flinches at the abrasiveness of it, but finds that he doesn’t immediately hate it.

“Well, on the bright side, I finally know your full name now,” Yuta chuckles. “Kim Doyoung. Agent Kim suits you pretty well, if I say so myself. When will I become Agent Nakamoto?”

“When you can assemble a rifle under fifteen seconds and have conducted high-risk missions in at least three continents,” Doyoung grits back. “The title is earned.”

Yuta stretches, holding his arms above his head. “Well, guess I gotta work fast, then. Now, about the rooming arrangements—”

Doyoung makes sure Yuta can see he’s reaching for the whip acting as his belt. “Nakamoto Yuta, you’ll shut up and get the hell away from me if you don’t want to die in the next thirty seconds.”

Yuta has the gall to look scandalized. “What? It’s a legitimate question.”

“I’m here as your roommate only because Taeyong wants you to have a supervisor,” Doyoung explains curtly. “And that’s the bottom line. You stay the hell away from me and my belongings otherwise.”

“Jeez, you’re such a prude.” Yuta hauls up his bag again and makes for the living room. “Fine, then. You can be a princess and have your personal space and your own room. I’ll take the couch.” He sets his bag down and pulls out a single blanket from inside it, draping it over the couch cushions.

A small, reclusive part of Doyoung’s brain responsible for empathy tells him that maybe he is being a little too cold, and that Yuta really isn’t as bad as he seems. After all, he hasn’t stolen anything from Doyoung yet and they’re both alive right now. And technically, Yuta did save his ass on Doyoung’s last mission, though Doyoung would sooner sit on hot coal than admit that out loud. So now, the least he can do is give Yuta the benefit of the doubt.

But a larger, more prideful portion of Doyoung’s brain tells him it’s all bullshit—that whatever Yuta is doing is an act to get him to lower his guard—and that’s the part he eventually decides to listen to.

“Works for me.” Doyoung pulls his suitcases along with him, and leaves Yuta to his own devices in the living room. The single bedroom is just down the hall, and when Doyoung enters, he notices several details.

For one thing, it’s definitely big enough. There’s two closets outside an en-suite bathroom. Two sets of drawers. Two nightstands. Two lamps.

And a single, king-sized bed.

Doyoung sighs quietly and sets his suitcases against the wall. He’s lived alone pretty much his whole life, so having a large space is nothing new to him, but the small noises of unpacking from outside the door is a constant reminder of how now, he’s got a roommate.

A _husband_.

Someone to spend what could possibly be the rest of his life with, if that stapler and glare of Taeyong’s has anything to say about it.

None of that matters, though, because Doyoung is a strong independent man and having some master thief as his lawfully-wedded partner and housemate isn’t going to change a thing. So long as he has his own space to live and operate in, he’ll be fine.

With those thoughts in mind, Doyoung begins to unpack.

* * *

“Doyoung."

“What, Nakamoto?”

Yuta sighs, crossing his arms over his bare chest as he leans against the doorframe of the bedroom. He’s thin, Doyoung notices. Yuta’s collarbones and ribs jut out rather sharply against his skin, visible even from the distance between them, and there’s a dark, abstract tattoo over Yuta’s right forearm that crawls all the way to his elbow.

“Look, I know you hate me enough already,” Yuta starts. “But there’s only one shower in this apartment, and I kinda need to use it.”

Doyoung glances at the en-suite before turning his head back to Yuta. Is he really cruel enough to deprive this man of basic human comfort? The couch should be enough already. Also, it’s pretty late and Doyoung just wants to crawl into bed and get some sleep before work the next morning.

“Make it quick,” he finally says.

Yuta flashes him a small, grateful smile, which Doyoung pointedly ignores in favor of booting up his laptop to write his latest field report with. The stitches on his wrist makes it a little more difficult to type now, but Doyoung manages. He’s a hundred words in when Yuta returns with a towel in hand and wearing nothing but his boxers, and Doyoung forces his attention away from his peripheral vision as Yuta disappears into the en-suite.

He’s two hundred words in when the water starts to run, and another fifty words pass before Doyoung hears the slink of shower curtains closing.

And not to say Yuta takes his sweet time, but he takes his sweet fucking time.

Doyoung writes exactly three thousand four hundred and sixty-three words and Yuta is still in the goddamn shower. He has half a mind to yell at him to hurry up and stop wasting so much water, but the better half of Doyoung’s conscience tells him that he’s been rude enough for one day.

Instead, he saves his work, shuts down his laptop, and pads his way to the kitchen, which is stocked with a pathetic amount of food. Doyoung finds a bag of crackers from the pantry and an apple from the refrigerator, and heads towards the living room.

The couch already looks very lived in, with the blanket and several articles of clothing strewn all over it. There’s no pillow, but the cushions feel plush enough to where Doyoung thinks that won’t warrant an issue. Yuta’s bag rests just off to the side, open and spilling over with more clothes, and it takes all the years of his restraint training for Doyoung to not go over there and snoop. 

“Stop,” Doyoung hisses to himself. “Get your shit together, Kim Doyoung. You’re better than this. Don’t be paranoid.” 

He sets the crackers on the coffee table, pockets the apple, and turns away before his mind can give him any other ideas. Doyoung makes it back to the bedroom just in time to hear the water turn off and the shower curtains pull open. Without a word, he picks up his laptop, turns it on, and picks up where he left off.

By the time Yuta leaves the bathroom with only the towel wrapped around his waist, Doyoung has written over eight thousand words. And by the time Yuta leaves the room altogether, Doyoung has written a hundred more, with the latter fifty just being every established version of ‘what the fuck am I doing?’

So okay, he’s definitely being paranoid now.

* * *

“Nakamoto.”

Yuta looks up from his place on the couch. He’s wearing a loose tank top and plaid pajama pants, and looks ready to fall asleep at any moment. “Yeah, Doyoung?”

Doyoung strides over and slaps a packet of paper down on the coffee table. Yuta looks at him quizzically, before reaching over and taking the packet by the edge. He gives it a quick once-over, before lifting his head to meet Doyoung’s eyes.

“What is this?”

“House rules, regulations, and my standard work schedule,” Doyoung explains curtly. “The latter of which is subject to change.”

“Okay.” Yuta looks at the packet and up at Doyoung again. “So…?”

“So here’s how we’re gonna operate around here,” Doyoung snaps. “You follow those regulations and respect my schedule, and I’ll stay out of your way, period.”

Yuta flips through the papers absently. “That’s an awful lot of rules you got here. Let's see...rule #1: don't touch my belongings...rule #10: don't cause a ruckus at any given moment...rule #37: don't enter the bedroom without my permission...” His eyes catch onto something a couple pages over, and immediately narrows. “Rule #53: return to the house at 1 AM at the latest? Are you—you’re seriously imposing a _curfew_ on me?”

Doyoung nods. “Yes.”

“I’m a grown man.”

“You’re a thief,” Doyoung specifies. “And I’m not having you go about wreaking havoc in my city. Not on my watch.”

Yuta blows a stray strand of hair away from his face. “I’m pretty sure my days as a professional thief were over the moment I signed that marriage certificate and employment contract in front of Taeyong.”

“Then I’ll put it plainly.” Doyoung leans forward, until his face and Yuta’s are less than a foot apart. “I don’t trust you, Nakamoto. And if you even _think_ about stepping a single foot out of line, I’ll disembowel you and use your guts to hang the curtains with.”

“What, and you’ll let my blood stain your perfectly pristine carpet?” Yuta scoffs. “Yeah, right.”

Doyoung’s fingers twitch, aching to grab the nearest bladed object he can find. “You don’t want me as your enemy, Nakamoto,” he hisses. “That much, I can tell you for sure.”

Yuta looks back, eyes defiant and challenging. “Oh, I know that, Agent Kim,” he purrs. “I’ve seen you post-action. My face is too pretty for you to butcher so roughly.”

Something flares inside Doyoung, and it’s not anger. Something deeper. Burning hotter. A familiar pain begins to pulse in Doyoung’s temples as he glares back into those rebellious eyes. He snatches the packet of papers from Yuta’s hands and slams it down onto the table so hard the metal legs wobble.

“Don’t try me, Nakamoto,” Doyoung warns. “I don’t care if we’re legally married or that Taeyong is breathing down our necks with this whole marriage fuckery. You memorize that packet and stay away from me, or you’ll be sorry.”

Yuta blinks, unfazed. “You seriously expect me to memorize all of—” he gestures at the packet. “—whatever the fuck that is and follow them to the T? You’re nuts.”

“I memorized it,” Doyoung says flatly. “So it should be no trouble for you.”

“Kim Doyoung,” Yuta bites out as Doyoung steps back to return to his room. “You are a difficult man to work with.”

A slight, triumphant smirk pulls at the corner of Doyoung’s lips as he walks away. “Good.”

* * *

On the upside to all this madness, Yuta is an exceptionally fast learner, as the following weeks prove.

“He’s good,” Jungwoo notes from Doyoung’s side as they watch Yuta and Taeil spar in the training dome. It might seem a bit unfair given how Taeil only has one eye to work with, but the IT director is no less agile and cunning than when he was a field agent. Yuta is holding his own well enough, blocking Taeil’s kicks and punches and retaliating with his own, but it’s obvious who is the better-trained fighter amongst the two.

“You know, I’m surprised.” Jungwoo turns to Doyoung and smiles amicably. “Two weeks in, and you haven’t murdered him yet.”

Doyoung huffs out a laugh. “Believe me, I would if we saw each other often enough.”

“But...you live together.”

“We function on different schedules.” Doyoung absently rubs his fingers over the healing scar on his wrist. “I made that very clear.”

Jungwoo’s gaze is soft and sympathetic as he meets Doyoung’s eyes. “Is he giving you trouble, hyung?”

“Not enough for me to kill him,” Doyoung replies. “Yet.”

“Hyung.”

“I know, Jungwoo.” Doyoung’s eyes flick over to where Taeyong stands, talking to Kun by the equipment wall. “Don’t worry, I have more restraint than you’d think.”

“Are you sure?” Jungwoo asks uncertainly.

“I’ll manage, Woo.”

“But hyung—”

“Woo,” Doyoung says more firmly, and the tone of his voice makes Jungwoo flinch. “I said I’ll be fine.”

Jungwoo nods without another word, and averts his gaze to the ground. Doyoung feels a slight twinge of guilt bloom in his chest for scolding the younger agent so harshly, but he wills it away and turns his attention back to the ring. The spar is reaching its climax, and Doyoung watches intently, analyzing Yuta’s physical abilities in comparison to one of their agency’s most seasoned members. 

Yuta’s quick, for sure. Strong, too. His punches and kicks have speed and power, but lack in the calculated finesse Taeil readily demonstrates in his own attacks. He’s attacking Taeil’s left side more, no doubt because of his blatant handicap, but Taeil’s experienced enough combat to know how to make up for his blindness.

In one swift move, Yuta ducks over to Taeil’s blind side once more and attempts to elbow him in the ribs, but Taeil catches his arm and spins, throwing Yuta down onto the mat with a shocking amount of strength.

“Rule number one of combat,” the director says calmly as he holds Yuta down by the throat. “Never underestimate your opponent, even if they’re disadvantaged.”

Yuta grins up at him through harsh breaths. “Noted. You’re pretty good for a half-blind tech.”

Doyoung’s about to snap back with an insult to defend his senior’s honor, but Taeil laughs lightly and helps Yuta off the mat. “You should’ve seen me when I was an active field agent, then. I would’ve _destroyed_ you.” 

Yuta winces as he rubs his shoulder. “I don’t doubt that.” Even though he’s half a head shorter than Yuta, Taeil’s fighting skills are intimidating, to put it delicately. “I thought tech people like you don’t dabble in physical training like this.”

“Technically, no,” Taeil admits. “But I like to keep in shape. And besides, it’s a good way to relieve stress.”

Doyoung smirks as Yuta limps off the mat with Taeil by his side. “Looks like he beat you pretty good,” he says, feeling a spark of triumph as a frown slowly forms on Yuta’s features. “Still think you’re hot stuff around here?”

“Hey, I’m new. Don’t pull that shit on me,” Yuta snips back. “I’d like to see you square up against him one day. How’d you like that?”

“I have,” Doyoung replies. The memories of his past spars with Taeil make his joints ache already. “Several times, actually. You’re just slow.”

“And you’re saying you actually beat him?” Yuta snorts. “I don’t think so.”

Doyoung levels Yuta with a _look_. “This coming from a thief, with no martial arts background whatsoever.”

“I get by.”

“Fat load of good that did you just now.”

Yuta sneers. “Okay, princess. You wanna go?”

Doyoung crosses his arms, ignoring the pleading look Jungwoo shoots him from the side. “You’ll regret it.”

Yuta laughs and treks back to the sparring ring. “Make me.”

“Sure.” Jungwoo yelps when Doyoung tosses his jacket at him. “Don’t complain when you’re too sore afterwards, Nakamoto.”

“Like a couple bruises can stop me, Kim.”

Doyoung cracks his knuckles. "I'm giving you one last chance right now to forfeit, Nakamoto. Or you'll wish you never opened your mouth."

Yuta smirks. "How kind of you, princess. I'll keep that in mind if you can manage to pin me down on the mat."

In the end, Doyoung does him one better.

He sends Yuta to the infirmary.

* * *

“So Doyoung,” Taeyong says one day when Doyoung is in a particularly bad mood over an upcoming mission. “How goes your marriage?”

Doyoung doesn’t look up from the mission briefing he’s reading. “Fine.”

“Come on, it’s been a month already. How are you two?”

“We’re both alive.”

Taeyong laughs, juggling the boba tea he’s holding in his hand. “I see that. I mean, how’s the relationship between you two? You guys getting along?”

Doyoung’s eye twitches. “We’re civil.”

“You’re making him sleep on the couch, aren’t you?”

“He chose that himself.”

“You sent him to the infirmary his second week here. With a concussion and a dislocated hip. _Hip_ , Doyoung!”

“In my defense, he asked for it.”

“You poisoned his coffee. Twice! What's your excuse for that?”

Doyoung flips a page in the briefing. “To test the potency of potassium cyanide."

Taeyong lets out a breath. “Thank god I noticed before he drank any of it.”

“Saboteur."

“You recruited him, Doyoung. I trusted your judgement.”

“I have my regrets.”

“ _Doyoung_.”

“Taeyong.”

Taeyong sighs. “Look, Doyoung, the point of this whole marriage is so you two can learn to work _together_.”

“Well, I want a divorce,” Doyoung snaps, crinkling the paper in his hands. “A thief, Taeyong. You made me marry and live with a _thief_.”

“We all come from different walks of life, Doyoung.” Something dangerous flashes in Taeyong’s eyes. “That’s a little hypocritical of you to judge him like that.”

“You—” Doyoung cuts off when he sees the look Taeyong is shooting him. He pauses and takes a moment to consider his words more carefully. “How can you say that to me, Taeyong?”

“Because it’s the truth.” Taeyong takes a long, leisurely sip of his boba. “So don’t spring that on me like it’ll get you out of this. It won’t.”

“You’re one cruel motherfucker.” Courtesy be damned. Doyoung just wants Taeyong to choke on his stupid boba and leave him alone.

“I’m a good friend,” Taeyong corrects. “And I want the best for you both. Now, you both have a steady income and secure housing. You work in the same place. Your personalities are compatible—”

“Bullshit.”

“—and he’s learning very fast how things work around here,” Taeyong finishes. “Whatever beef you have with him, Doyoung, let it rest, hm? He’s doing very well in his training and classes. Everyone else seems to like him. Look at it this way—you’ll have a new partner soon. And not just in the domestic sense.”

“I was perfectly happy working alone.” Doyoung turns to glare at Taeyong, hoping his fury is evident in his glare. “And living alone.”

“Doyoung,” Taeyong says in that soft, chiding voice he uses on the rookie agents. Doyoung hates it. “I know what I’m doing. This is good for you. And I’m sure that if you really wanted Yuta dead, you had every opportunity to take him out in private.”

Doyoung says nothing.

Taeyong’s eyes narrow in that catlike way when he figures out a secret he’s not supposed to know. “So, come on now, let’s be nice, Doyoung. Yuta’s not a bad guy. He just made bad choices. Give him a chance.”

Doyoung doesn’t bother gracing the senior agent with a reply, and picks up his briefing and bag. Taeyong calls out a cheery goodbye as he stalks out of the lounge, and Doyoung reminds himself the entire walk down to the labs of how fast Kun will find and murder him if he tries to set Taeyong on fire.

* * *

“What are you doing?”

Doyoung looks up from his laptop, seeing Yuta close the front door behind him. He’s bundled up in winter clothes, and looks more like a walking marshmallow than anything else.

“Working.”

“I see that.” Yuta rolls his eyes. “I mean, what’re you doing up so late? Doesn’t the sleeping beauty need her eight hours of rest or something?”

Doyoung scowls, but can’t deny the fact that it is late—1 AM to be precise—and that he’s sitting at the dining room table instead of lying in his bed. “I can’t go to sleep yet. Not until this is done.” He looks over to where Yuta’s shucking off layer after layer and hanging his jackets on the hooks by the door. “I could ask the same for you. What’re you doing out so late?”

“Shopping.” Yuta lifts a bag that Doyoung hasn’t noticed before. “We ran out of milk and rice. And a bunch of other things.”

Huh. Doyoung really didn’t think Yuta would notice something like that, much less go out so late just to restock their pantry. Not that he’s complaining about it. Yuta eats most of the food they have, so it’s only fair he be the one to go shopping for more.

“Also,” Yuta pulls something out of his back pocket and flicks it at Doyoung, who catches it out of the air. “Here’s your credit card back.”

“WHAT?” Doyoung looks down at the card in his hand, and yep, that’s definitely his. And to add insult to injury, Doyoung checks his wallet every day. That card was definitely in his wallet, which had been in his pocket this whole time. Anger flares in him, forming a ball of tightness behind his eyelids. “You—what—how DARE you—”

“I didn’t buy anything crazy, relax,” Yuta drawls, looking far too smug for his own good. “Just groceries and some new clothes.”

“You fucker,” Doyoung seethes. “You just violated the first house rule. I swear to god if you drained my account for some Burberry—”

“It’s not Burberry,” Yuta interrupts. “Or Gucci or Prada or Louis Vuitton. Chill. I have my own share of expensive clothes, thank you very much.”

Of course. Yuta would for sure have expensive clothes. He’s a thief. An excellent one at that. Doyoung can only guess how much money Yuta amassed from all his illegal activities. It’d be no surprise if he actually owns a private island somewhere remote in the Pacific.

“Then what the fuck did you buy using my money?” Doyoung growls indignantly. “Show me.”

Yuta drops off the groceries in the kitchen and heads into the living room. He rummages around in his duffle bag—where all his clothes have been stored for the last two months—and pulls out a hoodie. It’s plain, gray streaked with purple, and not from any name brand.

“It cost only 30,000 won,” Yuta says simply. “If you’re that stuck up about money I’ll pay you back, damn.”

Doyoung exhales, feeling the tightness behind his eyes grow in intensity. He really needs to go to sleep before this headache does the honors of knocking him out. “Don’t bother.”

“Aww, aren’t you sweet!”

Doyoung snaps his laptop shut and leaves, but not before snatching up a bottle of painkillers and hurling it at Yuta’s face.

Maybe now, his headache can finally go away.

* * *

Over the next month, Yuta wears that one particular hoodie more often than not around the house. They don’t share laundry days, because Doyoung’s just petty like that, but he’s sure he sees a peek of gray and purple hanging out of Yuta’s laundry hamper at least twice every week. 

Yuta absolutely adores the thing. He usually wears it with the sleeves bunched up around his elbows and the hood over his head, and pairs it with either pajama pants or sweats. Doyoung used to think that the combination of an oversized hoodie and sweats looks plain sloppy, but somehow on Yuta it doesn’t look all that bad. In fact, he looks comfortable. Very comfortable.

“Hey, Doyoung,” Yuta says one Saturday afternoon when they’re both free from agency duties. “Here.”

Doyoung eyes the bag Yuta hands him like it’s some sort of bomb. “What is it?”

“Open it. You’ll see.”

Doyoung carefully takes the bag and rummages inside it. His hands catch onto soft fabric, and he finds himself staring at a carbon copy of Yuta’s favorite hoodie, though this one is streaked with navy blue instead of purple.

“A hoodie,” Doyoung notes.

“Yep! So now, we’re even.” Yuta grins from across the table. “I bought this with my own money, since I jacked yours last time to buy mine.”

“Oh.” Doyoung isn’t sure how to feel about this. Technically Yuta owes him this much, but nothing about his action makes Doyoung actually feel like he’s collecting a debt. The hoodie is soft in his hands, the fabric of decent quality, and looks about his size. Yuta is watching him expectantly from where he’s seated across Doyoung, and his hands fidget with the sleeves of his own, well-worn hoodie.

Doyoung has a lot of pride and disdain for Yuta, but his mother didn’t raise a mannerless bastard. And to be fair, Yuta hasn’t done anything to piss him off that much lately, and he didn’t break that many house rules (so far).

“Thank you,” Doyoung says finally, averting his gaze back down to the hoodie once Yuta’s face lights up in a smile.

“No problem! Guess it kinda was a dick move for me to steal your money like that, huh? Consider this my reconciliation gift.” Yuta stands up and makes his way to the kitchen. “I want some coffee. You want some coffee?”

“No.” A pause. “Thanks.”

Yuta shrugs. “Suit yourself.” He turns on the kettle and pulls the coffee from one of the cabinets. Doyoung only faintly registers the sounds coming from the kitchen as he stands up from his seat and retreats to his room.

Now, there’s two ways he can go about this. Doyoung can toss the hoodie into the trash can in the bathroom and forget this exchange ever happened, or he can be civil and grateful and wear the thing around the house like Yuta has been doing for weeks now.

The first option sounds a little cruel, even by Doyoung’s standards. The second is feasible, but Doyoung still likes to keep a neat appearance, even at home.

So, option three. Doyoung de-tags the hoodie and tosses it into his laundry hamper.

Out of sight, out of mind.


	3. Chapter 3

“Yuta.”

“Ah, Taeyong.” Yuta turns his head, seeing the senior agent walking briskly up to him. “The man who made me sign my life away.”

Taeyong doesn’t react to the good-natured jab, and only settles his hands on his hips as he looks at Yuta with the same intensity of the day when Yuta first woke up in NCT’s infirmary. “I have a question for you,” he says very seriously.

Yuta flashes him an easy smile. “And I have answers.”

“How is Doyoung treating you?”

“Not bad,” Yuta automatically says. Taeyong looks at him like he just grew another set of eyeballs. “Like, he hasn’t killed me yet? And sure his temper’s bad but he never hits me or anything. Except for that one time during sparring. Though I did provoke him, so that’s partially on me.”

“What the hell did you say to him?”

“I challenged him to a spar,” Yuta replies simply.

“And then he sent you to the infirmary with serious injuries,” Taeyong finishes.

“Yep.”

“You do know he also tried to poison you, right?”

“Oh.” Yuta taps his chin thoughtfully. “I kinda thought he would, but I didn’t really think too hard on it.”

“Why,” Taeyong begins incredulously. “Are you so _nice_ about all this?”

Yuta shrugs. “Doyoung’s not a bad person. I get that my background doesn’t peg me as the most trustworthy guy out there, but I like living enough to know what to do and what not to do when living with an assassin.”

“That’s not the point,” Taeyong presses, rubbing a hand over his forehead. “I mean, what’s driving you to be so cordial to him when he treats you so coldly back? Most people would just give up on ever getting close with him. Many already have.”

Yuta laughs at that. Cordial. That’s a funny way to put it. “We’re not friends, Taeyong. Believe me, we’re not. Doyoung hates my guts so much he threatened to use them to hang curtains with.”

“But you don’t hate him.” It’s not a question. 

“No, I don’t.” A small, soft smile breaks over his lips as he says it. “I don’t hate him.”

Taeyong looks like there’s a calculus equation floating over Yuta’s head. One that’s he’s just beginning to figure out. “Okay...but why?”

“Well…” Yuta turns, and is pleased to see that besides the two of them, the hallway is empty. “He’s a character. A hard case to crack.”

"Oh, believe me, I know that." Taeyong shakes his head. "It took me two years to get close to him."

"My point exactly. But with our situation, two years might be too long," Yuta sighs.

Taeyong arches a brow. “And what exactly do you mean by that? You have a deadline to steal his heart or something?”

“Not steal,” Yuta drawls as he turns away from Taeyong and begins walking down the hall again. “But exchange."

* * *

The first time it happens is during a group training session, led by the new North American branch director, Johnny Seo. Doyoung hasn’t seen the man around the Seoul headquarters that often during his arrival, but they hit it off well enough. Johnny is tall and broad, and built like a fighting machine. His long arms and legs ripple with defined muscles, and his movements during sparring are slick and precise. Doyoung isn’t as shameless as Ten or Jungwoo, who openly checks out the young, handsome director in front of the entire agency, but he’ll acknowledge male beauty when he sees it.

“Sir, with all due respect, you are a beast,” Doyoung says in awe as Johnny steps out of the sparring ring after his match with Kun. Their fight had lasted nearly ten minutes, with neither man willing to back down and both strategic and strong enough to hold the other off. It was an impressive show of strength and stamina, until Ten finally got bored of waiting, threw down a ten-kilogram medicine ball right in the middle of the ring, and screamed for the match to end in a draw.

Johnny laughs. “Thanks, Doyoung. I’m not super familiar with how things work here at the main headquarters, but we’re all doing our best.” His gaze softens as he meets eyes with Doyoung. “Taeyong’s told me a lot about you.”

Doyoung feels himself blush. “Really? Has he now?”

Johnny nods. “Of course. Taeyong and I, we go way back. He’s been keeping me updated with his share of the work. I heard you’re one of our finest agents.” His gaze turns a little sly. “And assassin.”

“You flatter me,” Doyoung says with a modest bow. “I’m truly humbled, Director Seo.”

“No, please, don’t do that,” Johnny says with a light laugh, resting a large hand on Doyoung’s shoulder. “It makes me feel old.”

Doyoung straightens up. “Right. Apologies, sir.”

Johnny waves him off good-naturedly. “Ah, don’t worry about it. Come, I’d like you to meet someone.” He leads Doyoung away from the gathering of agents warming up for their turn to spar and towards the back of the room, where a couple people are scattered about, prepping weapons and gearing up.

“Ah.” Johnny waves at a young man sharpening a rather large hunting knife. “Jaehyun!”

The young man—Jaehyun—lifts his head, and in that moment, Doyoung quickly notices a couple things. For one, he’s young. Very young. Younger than Doyoung, who’s barely scraping past twenty. Second, he’s handsome. In a different way from Johnny, whose features have an underlying kindness despite his intimidating stature. Jaehyun is also tall, the epitome of traditional Korean handsomeness, but his face is ice-cold. Unapproachable. The mop of dark hair and shadows under his eyes does nothing to help his social influence.

“Doyoung, meet Jaehyun Jung,” Johnny introduces. “One of our best agents back in the States. And,” he pauses, searching for a way to phrase his words. “My husband.”

 _Cue record scratch_. Doyoung looks at Johnny, then at Jaehyun, then Johnny again. Did he hear that right? This young man standing right before him—in combat boots and a graphic tee, looking not a day past eighteen—is married to the director of NCT’s North American branch?

Doyoung needs to sit down before he loses control of his filter and blurts out something stupid.

“Hi!” Jaehyun greets. And wow, his voice is lower than Doyoung expects. Friendlier, too. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Agent Kim. Can I call you hyung?”

Well, he’s forward. Doyoung appreciates that. “Uh, sure.” He sticks out a hand, which Jaehyun eagerly shakes. “Nice to meet you, Agent Jung.”

Jaehyun grins. It makes him look a lot younger and more harmless than he initially appeared. “Feeling’s mutual, hyung. Say, may I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

“Well, forgive me for being bold, but I heard from John—Director Seo, who heard from Taeyong that you’re also married?” Doyoung freezes. _Taeyong that little—_ “And I was wondering if we may all meet, one married couple to another. If that’s not too much trouble,” Jaehyun finishes.

“Uh…” Doyoung glances back, to where Yuta is currently stretching and chatting with the other rookie agents. He looks so carefree, so unlike Doyoung, who is currently trying to find the politest way to phrase the term ‘I’d rather the fuck not’.

Johnny frowns, genuine concern lacing his voice as he says, “Is something wrong, Doyoung? Like Jaehyun said, if it’s too much trouble, then it’s alright. Sorry for intruding on your privacy like this.”

“No, it’s fine!” Doyoung says quickly. He hides his trembling hands behind his back and he nudges his head towards where the rookies are. “He’s over there. I can take you to meet him.”

Yuta blinks in surprise when the three men approach him. He excuses himself from his conversation with Renjun and Yukhei and steps forward, looking wary.

“Doyoung? Do you need something?”

Doyoung silently prays for every divine being he knows to lend him some patience. “No, Nakamoto. This here is Director Johnny Seo of NCT’s North American branch, and his husband, Agent Jaehyun Jung.” He turns to Johnny and Jaehyun. “Sir, Agent Jung, meet Nakamoto Yuta.”

 _‘My...husband,’_ Doyoung’s brain supplies. Somehow that word still doesn’t feel right to say. 

“It’s a pleasure, Director Seo and Agent Jung.” Yuta grins, genuine and broad as he shakes the hands of both men. Doyoung’s seen that smile several times during their cohabitation, but it’s never directed at him. Or at least, he doesn’t think so.

And it’s fine. It’s whatever. Doyoung tells himself that he doesn’t mind it. It’s not like Yuta has a reason to smile at him like that, anyways. All Doyoung does is snap, ignore, or try to kill him during the last couple months. He wouldn’t smile at himself like that, either.

“So you’re a new recruit?” Doyoung hears Johnny ask. “How long have you been with NCT?”

“Eh...just a bit over two months now,” Yuta replies. “I was hand-picked for the position by a senior agent.”

“Hand-picked?” Jaehyun’s eyes are wide with awe. “That’s pretty rare. You must’ve been something special to catch the attention of a senior agent.”

Yuta laughs, loud and boisterous as usual. Doyoung feels a headache starting to form. “I guess so! It really turned my life upside-down.”

Johnny smiles kindly. “I’m sure it did. Who was the recruiting agent?”

“Who?” Yuta flashes them another bright grin and sidles up to Doyoung, slinging an arm around his shoulders. Doyoung startles at the sudden contact. “Why, this man right here! My husband, Kim Doyoung!” He says the words with so much pride, like Doyoung hasn’t been giving him the cold shoulder and attempted (several times) to (unsuccessfully) assassinate him (curse you, Taeyong).

Johnny and Jaehyun both stare at them. Doyoung wants nothing more than to just throw off Yuta’s arm, punch him in the face for the unwarranted (and unappreciated) act of intimacy, then wait for the ground to swallow him whole.

But no, he doesn’t do that, because that’d be rude in front of his superior. And if there’s anything Doyoung is known for within the agency besides his commendable kill count, it’s his respect for his peers and superiors. Most of the time.

So he smiles tightly, takes the compliments Johnny and Jaehyun offer him, and counts down the seconds until he can no longer feel Yuta’s touch on his body. Where his arm had been looped around Doyoung’s shoulders leave a phantom impression, and that’s all he can feel while he waits the agonizing fifteen minutes for his turn to spar.

Doyoung brushes his hand over his skin repeatedly to get rid of the feeling, but the tingles linger nonetheless.

* * *

The second time it happens is during their weekly weapons exercises. Doyoung has never been particularly fond of the shooting range within their training dome, but he puts on his earmuffs and goggles all the same as he waits his turn in one of the stalls.

Through the loud bangs of guns and cheerful whoops from the other agents when they scored well, Doyoung barely notices the body that sidles up to him.

“You’re awfully quiet today.”

Doyoung turns just enough to make out Yuta’s form next to him. The other man is also geared up, pistol in his hand with the safety on. He looks like a little kid on Christmas morning, eager and ready to approach shooting at the shadowy portrait hung fifteen meters away.

“I have nothing to say.” Doyoung checks his own gun and watches as Taeyong carefully adjusts Donghyuck’s posture before letting the trainee shoot, and Donghyuck immediately puts two holes through the portrait’s head. Doyoung feels a little proud, watching him. He remembers when Donghyuck used to only reach his chest and clung onto him incessantly for comfort. Now, the young trainee’s shooting imaginary enemies straight through the skull with a ruthless streak Doyoung feels qualified to claim as a result of his own teaching.

“Sharp little rascal, isn’t he?” Yuta muses, gesturing to Donghyuck when Doyoung shoots him a questioning glance. “A kid like him, shooting people straight through the head without even blinking.” His gaze turns scrutinizing as he meets Doyoung’s eyes. “Wonder where he learned that from.”

Doyoung can’t help the small chuckle that escapes him. “I teach killing methods, Yuta. Not marksmanship.”

“Makes sense.” Yuta turns to face him fully. “All these times during training and such, I don’t see you carry guns a whole lot.”

“I don’t like using guns.”

“Really?” Yuta asks, genuine curiosity lacing his tone. “But the night we first met, you seemed pretty comfortable with it.”

“It was a fast way to kill them,” Doyoung replies, turning his attention back to the trainees. “And I was injured.”

“Aha!” Doyoung scowls as Yuta points at him like he’d just discovered the cure to a global pandemic. “So you _are_ human! And here I was thinking you’re just some angry bunny-faced android.”

 _Android?_ _Why that shameless—_

Doyoung takes in a deep breath and lets it out slowly, counting to ten in his head. Of all the times he could implement some of Taeil’s calming techniques, right now—in the middle of a shooting range with a loaded gun in his hands—is probably the worst. Yuta’s standing less than a meter away from him, and Doyoung has worked with guns long enough to be able to release the safety and fire at least three rounds into Yuta’s head—point-blank—in under four seconds. His fingers curl a little tighter around the gun as he forcefully wills his voice to come out even. “Sorry to disappoint, but I am human, Nakamoto. I can get hurt like everyone else.”

“I know you can.” Yuta’s voice softens in its tone. “But it’s not all that hard to admit, now is it?”

“Admit what?”

“That you have faults.”

Doyoung whips around and glares at Yuta. “What’re you getting at, Nakamoto?” he growls.

Yuta raises his hands amicably. Or as amicably as one holding a loaded gun can. “I’m just saying, Doyoung. We’re not perfect, and that’s okay.”

Doyoung turns away. “I know I’m not perfect. It’s common sense.”

“Is it, though?” Yuta’s voice is teasing, but there’s something peculiar about the way he says the words, all sharp and soft at the same time. Playful but reprimanding. “Some people like to think they always know best, and that everything they think is ‘right’ in the world is gospel.”

“And your point is?” Doyoung snaps.

“My point is,” Yuta says as he steps up to a recently-vacated stall. Doyoung fights the urge to follow him, but the commotion around him leaves him little choice but to shuffle closer to be able to hear the rest of Yuta’s spiel. Instead, all he gets is an earful of gunshots as Yuta punches three holes square in the middle of the portrait’s chest.

“...so don’t blame me,” Yuta finishes, turning around and flashing Doyoung a crooked smile. “Did you hear me?”

Doyoung thunks his muffed ear against the heel of his hand in a painful effort to get rid of some of the ringing. “No.”

Something flashes across Yuta’s face, an emotion Doyoung has never seen on him before, but it’s there and gone before he can take the time to analyze it. Instead, a small smile spreads over Yuta’s lips as he breathes out a laugh, shakes his head, and pats Doyoung once on the shoulder before he leaves the shooting range.

Doyoung watches him go, standing in the newly vacant stall with his shoulder tingling. A swarm of different thoughts and feelings cloud his mind, but it’s not enough to hinder Doyoung from taking his stance and firing two shots right in the portrait’s face.

It isn’t until the paper is changed that Doyoung realizes that he missed his usual target of the forehead by a whole two inches.

* * *

And as they say, the third time’s the charm.

It’s a normal Thursday, and Doyoung’s enjoying a slice of toast slathered with jam with his morning coffee when Yuta stumbles into the kitchen. He’s dressed in his favorite hoodie and pajama pants, both of which seem to stick to his skin. His gait is staggered and irregular, and heavy dark circles hang under his eyes like overturned moons. 

Yuta reaches for the refrigerator door and pulls, and it takes him a lot more effort to open the refrigerator than any other day. He’s almost panting by the time the door swings open.

“Nakamoto,” Doyoung calls from his place at the table. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Yuta replies with a dismissive wave. “Just thirsty.”

Doyoung frowns. “You don’t look well.”

“How nice of you to worry about me, Doyoung,” Yuta says sweetly, and Doyoung can’t tell if he’s being serious or not. “But I can take care of myself. I’m just a little tired.”

“Tired, hm?” Doyoung stands and makes his way over to Yuta. “Turn around.”

Yuta pulls out a water bottle from the fridge and cracks it open. “Why?”

“Damn it, Nakamoto, just do it.”

Yuta sighs around a gulp of water, but turns towards Doyoung obediently. From this distance, it’s even more obvious that he’s sick. His eyes are red-rimmed, and there’s small beads of sweat forming along his hairline and the base of his neck. Doyoung absently reaches out and brushes Yuta’s forehead with the back of his hand. 

“You’re burning,” he notes.

Yuta cracks a small, pained smile. “Well if that’s how you say I’m hot, then thank you.”

“No, Nakamoto,” Doyoung groans. “You have a fever. You’re burning up.”

“I’ll be fine.” Yuta brushes off Doyoung’s hand and staggers past him. “I’ll just sleep it off, no big deal.”

“You need medicine.”

“Sleep first. Medicine later.”

“If you take medicine now, it’ll expedite the recovery after you wake up.”

“Later.”

“Nakamoto—”

“I said I’m fine,” Yuta rasps as he plops down on the couch and rolls himself into a snug blanket burrito. “Now let me die in peace.”

Doyoung heaves a sigh and retreats into the bedroom. He always keeps the medicine cabinet stocked, and picks his way through the various medications until he finds some to treat fevers with. Doyoung pops out a dose of the tablets and returns to the living room.

Yuta is just falling asleep, hair splayed out around him and face half-hidden beneath the blankets. He’s shivering noticeably, even under the several blankets wrapped around him.

“Nakamoto,” Doyoung whispers, gently shaking Yuta with one hand as the other stretches towards the coffee table for Yuta’s water bottle. “Wake up. Eat your medicine.”

Yuta moans and cracks open an eye as Doyoung holds out the opened bottle and tablets towards him. His pale lips part slightly, and Doyoung takes the opportunity to push the tablets inside. He tilts Yuta’s head back, and presses the rim of the bottle to his lips. Yuta takes a small gulp of the water, and collapses back against the cushions.

“You’ll feel better when you wake up,” Doyoung says as he stands up straight. “Go to sleep.”

Yuta makes a noncommittal hum, but knocks out before he can give Doyoung a smartass retort. 

* * *

When Yuta wakes up again, he feels a lot better than when he woke up the first time in the morning. A glance over at the clock on the nightstand tells him it’s already two in the afternoon, and he rolls over onto his back and stretches out his limbs on the bed.

_Wait._

_Wait a diddly-ding-dong-damn minute._

Yuta jolts up, and looks hurriedly around the room. He’s in a king-sized bed, with soft cotton sheets that smell like fresh laundry and something a little floral. His clothes aren’t the hoodie and pajama pants he went to sleep in, but a set of gray pajamas he doesn’t own. The room is completely decked out in the sleek, minimalistic design Doyoung always prefers.

Just what the hell is he doing in Doyoung’s bedroom? Yuta is pretty sure he passed out on the couch. He’s pretty sure he’s supposed to STAY on the couch. One of Doyoung’s many house rules is literally to not enter his bedroom without permission, and Yuta’s just conscious enough to remember that he never got permission.

Or even if he did...no, Yuta’s pretty sure he didn’t.

There’s a glass of water on the nightstand along with a post-it note, the message written in Doyoung’s smooth, almost font-like print.

_‘Drink the water when you wake up. There’s soup for you in the kitchen.’_

Yuta chuckles to himself as he downs the water in a few gulps. Even on paper, Doyoung’s bossy. Though to be fair, the idea of a bowl of soup doesn’t sound too bad at the moment.

By the time he pulls himself out of bed and out into the common area of the apartment, the couch is stripped bare of his blankets and Yuta’s bag is missing from its usual place. The carpet looks like it’s freshly vacuumed, and the sliding glass door leading to the balcony looks recently polished. The dull hum of the washing machine reverberates throughout the otherwise quiet apartment, and Yuta wonders just what the hell Doyoung has been up to since he conked out.

“Oh good, you’re up.”

“Don’t do that!” Yuta jumps, pointing an accusing finger at Doyoung, who only smirks as he emerges from the laundry room. “Goddamn, give a man a warning next time!”

“I see you’re well enough to yell,” Doyoung says drily as he brushes past Yuta and heads into the kitchen. “Have you eaten?”

“No,” Yuta says slowly, watching as Doyoung lights the stove and sets a pot on it. “Though I did read your note.” He smiles. “That’s actually...kinda nice of you.”

“Don’t get used to it,” Doyoung mutters as he stirs the contents of the pot. “The sooner you recover from whatever you’re sick with, the better it’ll be for both of us.”

Yuta hums his agreement before turning back to the living room. “So...where’d all my stuff go?”

“In the wash,” Doyoung replies dully. “I didn’t want any germs lingering around.”

“And my clothes?”

“Washed, folded, and put away.”

Yuta can’t hide the smirk in his voice as he answers, “I see you’ve taken certain liberties on that aspect.”

Doyoung turns his head away. “You were sweating through your pajamas. It was disgusting.”

“Yet you put me in your clothes and your bed.”

“Both of which I knew were clean.”

Yuta scoffs out a laugh. “Okay, clean freak. Where exactly are my clothes now?”

“In the spare drawers.”

“Spare?”

“I only have so much stuff,” Doyoung answers nonchalantly. “The extra drawers and closet might as well be for decoration.”

A warm feeling unfurls in Yuta’s chest. And it shouldn’t be a big deal, but coming from Doyoung, clothes in a proper drawer instead of a duffle bag might as well equate to a bear hug and hot chocolate on a cold winter day. 

“Thank you, Doyoung.”

“Hm.” Doyoung ladles some soup into a bowl and sets it on the table with a spoon. “Eat, Nakamoto. Don’t make me tell you twice.”

The soup smells of a calming blend of herbs and spices, and Yuta doesn’t wait another minute to dig in. Doyoung watches him from the kitchen, pulling out several vegetables from the refrigerator and beginning to prepare them for dinner.

“Good soup,” Yuta mumbles through a mouthful. “I thought you only lived on stir-fried vegetables and rice.”

“Meal prep takes too much time,” Doyoung says over the steady rhythm of his chopping. “I’m too lazy to cook anything more complicated than that.”

Yuta snorts. “Kim Doyoung, assassin extraordinaire and professional pain in the ass—lazy? Wow, what universe did I wake up in?” He points his spoon over in Doyoung’s direction. “Who are you and what did you do to my stone-cold, uncaring, stick-up-the-ass husband?”

Doyoung murders an onion a little harder than necessary. “Don’t start, Nakamoto.”

“No, I’m serious!” Yuta exclaims, shoveling another spoonful of soup into his mouth. “My Doyoung would never touch my stuff. He’d sooner die than let me sleep in an actual bed. He won’t go out of his way just to make me chicken soup when he lives on mostly vegetables. Just who the hell are you?”

“It’s still me, moron,” Doyoung snaps. “You make it sound like I’m some domestic nightmare.”

“Cause you are.”

“You—” Doyoung cuts off with a sigh. “Okay, fine. Fine, perhaps some of your accusations are valid.”

“Ha! Told you so.”

“ _But_ ,” Doyoung stresses as he sets his knife down with a clank. “I had my reasons for doing what I did.”

“And?” Yuta picks up his bowl and starts drinking out of it. “What are they?”

“That’s none of your concern.” Doyoung picks up the knife and starts chopping again. “But don’t think that just because you’re sick now that you deserve my pity, Nakamoto. You don’t.”

“Let’s see,” Yuta hums thoughtfully. “You checked up on me, you gave me medicine and water, you changed my clothes for me and put me in your bed to rest, then made me chicken soup and did my laundry for me.” A sly smirk makes its way over his face as Doyoung’s posture stiffens. “Hmm...if I didn’t know any better I’d think you honestly care about me.”

“You’re in way over your head, Nakamoto,” Doyoung growls as he expertly guts a bell pepper. “I could want chicken soup for myself and just had some left over. It’s a good source of protein.”

Yuta smiles softly. “You don’t like chicken.”

“Since when?”

“Since as long as I’ve been with you,” Yuta replies. “You eat vegetables, tofu, but you’d never touch a piece of chicken unless it’s fried. You don't like meat, period.”

“That...is not true,” Doyoung argues weakly.

Yuta snickers quietly and stands up, bringing the bowl over to the sink and reaching for the dishrag. “Keep denying it, Doyoung. You can run, but you can’t hide from the truth. Not forever.”

Doyoung scoffs. “There’s nothing for me to run or hide from.”

“Really? Nothing?”

“Not a thing.”

Yuta sets aside the clean dishes and begins drying them off with a towel. “You’re a shitty liar, Kim Doyoung.”

Doyoung’s head snaps over towards him. “And that's a problem, Nakamoto?”

“See, you’re doing it right there,” Yuta points out. “Whenever you’re trying to deny or hide something, you get super defensive and mean.” His voice lowers a notch as he takes a step closer towards Doyoung. “Why do you do this to yourself?”

“Do what?”

“Block people out. Put up walls. Push concerns away—whatever you wanna call it,” Yuta replies. “You’ve got a bad habit, Doyoung.”

Doyoung sets aside his knife and puts all the chopped vegetables into separate bowls. “I’ve learned to live by myself,” he mutters quietly. “I don’t need to be so close to people.”

“Why?”

A shrug. “It makes life easier.”

“Does it?” Yuta puts the dishes away and turns to face Doyoung fully. “How does it make life easier?”

There’s a faraway look in Doyoung’s eyes. It’s different from his usual spark of anger, irritation, or plain nonchalance. This look stems from something deep inside him. A side to Doyoung Yuta has yet to uncover.

“Because,” Doyoung says blankly, as though in a trance. “If I have nobody around me, then I have absolutely nothing to lose.”

“Nothing to lose?” Yuta shakes his head. “We’ve all got something to lose, Doyoung. What matters is how willing we are to defend it.”

Doyoung’s eyes shift to meet Yuta’s. “And you’re speaking from experience?” he asks. His voice isn't scornful or patronizing like Yuta expects it to be. Instead, he sounds genuinely curious.

“Of course.” Yuta takes a step back so he can look at Doyoung properly. “I’ve had lots to lose. For several months, actually. But I’m fighting through hell and back to keep it.”

Doyoung looks confused. “What’re you trying to keep?”

Yuta leans over to bump his elbow against Doyoung’s. “What do you think?”

“Your sense of decency?” Doyoung deadpans.

Yuta laughs in delight. “Good guess! But no.”

“Human morality.”

“God, I think I lost that years ago. Try again.”

“Erectile function.”

“Erm…” _How can this guy just say that with a straight face?_ “No problem there, but thanks for the concern.”

Doyoung sighs and turns back to the chopping board. “I don’t know. Whatever.”

“Giving up already?”

“Piss off, Nakamoto.”

“You really don’t know, huh?”

“Don’t know, don’t care.”

Doyoung’s back is turned, so he doesn’t see the fond smile that stretches over Yuta’s lips.

 _‘No,’_ Yuta thinks as he watches Doyoung steadily make his way around the kitchen. _‘You do know. You do care. But your damn pride is always in the way.’_ His smile turns a little sad. _‘You're a fool for closing you heart, Kim Doyoung. And I'm probably a fool for opening mine.'_


	4. Chapter 4

Doyoung won’t call their relationship a truce now, but he really doesn’t feel like killing Yuta anymore. Instead, a reluctant acceptance takes its place, because what the hell, they’ve lived together this long, so he might as well make peace with it.

Yuta recovers from his fever without a hitch, and immediately insists on bringing all his blankets back over to the couch so he can give Doyoung his much-needed personal space.

And for some reason, the thought of that makes Doyoung more uneasy than having Yuta outright invade his personal space. At least with Yuta occupying the same area, he can provide helpful input on mission reports and some heat to the other side of the bed that Doyoung was loath to roll onto, because cold sheets wake him up like a slap in the face.

Yuta had tried to cuddle Doyoung when he was still sick, but Doyoung had pushed him off every time, because with the fever, all the blankets, and two people, the bed felt more like a steamer than a sleeping sanctuary. Doyoung had never been to a sauna before, but he imagines that sharing a bed with a feverish Yuta was about as close as he’d get.

Though if he had given up trying to maintain his own space sometime along the second night because Yuta had been especially fatigued and needed a comfort anchor, then that’s nobody’s business but his own.

“Don’t,” Doyoung says when Yuta moves to heave his blankets out from where they are stored in his drawers. “There’s really no point for you staying out there.”

Yuta blinks, eyes shifting from the blankets to where Doyoung is propped against a mountain of pillows, typing furiously at his laptop. He doesn’t look up to meet Yuta’s gaze. 

“But...don’t you need your own privacy? Like if I haven’t bugged you enough, I’ll try harder, but the last time we had this talk you threatened to whip me,” Yuta says. His voice is joking, but there’s a harder undertone. Something not quite believing. Not quite forgiving.

Doyoung sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Nakamoto, it’s fine.”

“Wasn’t one of the house rules not to disturb your peace or something?” Yuta counters.

“If this goes on, you’ll be really pushing rule #40,” Doyoung grumbles, turning his attention back to his work. “Still haven’t memorized it, have you?”

Yuta laughs and pushes the drawers closed. “Nah. Though it looks like if I leave you alone, I’ll be following at least two-thirds of the rules by default.”

“Suit yourself.” Doyoung is too tired to fight with Yuta on this.

“In that case.” Yuta hops onto the bed, sitting cross-legged a respectful meter away from Doyoung. “I’ll take the offer.”

Doyoung nods, eyes never leaving the screen of his laptop. “Just don’t mess up this room. I have dust allergies and will kill you if anything’s left on the floor.”

Yuta stretches his legs out and rolls over onto his stomach, pillowing his head against his arms. His eyes are already starting to droop with midday drowsiness. “Noted. I’ll be careful.” 

Doyoung watches Yuta fall asleep from the corner of his eye. He’s beautiful, in a sort of fairy-like way. Yuta’s lashes brush his cheeks with each breath he takes, and the afternoon sunlight bathes his skin in a healthy glow that the fever had stolen for days. He’s still thin, but not in that wiry way he used to be when they first met. Lean muscles form smooth lines under his t-shirt, formed from months of physical training.

Absently, Doyoung reaches over and brushes a strand of hair away from Yuta’s face. The other hand continues to type away clumsily as Doyoung diverts more and more of his attention to the sleeping man next to him.

When he’s asleep, Yuta’s not so bad. Less talkative, less rambunctious, less provocative.

He looks so young, and Doyoung realizes with a sinking clarity of just how green they both are compared to the world at large.

“What the fuck,” he whispers through his epiphany. “He’s only twenty-one. I’m twenty.”

Twenty.

Twenty and married. Married and living together. Living together and making it work.

Sort of.

Doyoung scoffs out a quiet laugh. “God, what the fuck are we doing? I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know anything.”

Next to him, Yuta shifts, but doesn’t wake. Doyoung sets aside his laptop and reaches towards the foot of the bed for a thin knit blanket. He pulls it up and drapes it over Yuta.

A sudden bout of tranquility washes over Doyoung as he watches Yuta snuggle into the blanket. Harmless. Warm.

“Oh god,” he whispers faintly. “What the fuck am I _doing_?”

* * *

_“...hello?”_

“Jaehyun.”

 _“Doyoung-hyung?”_ Jaehyun yawns. He sounds tired. _“What’s up? Is there something you need?”_

Doyoung winces. He totally forgot different time zones were a thing. And Jaehyun’s back in America to boot. “Sorry to call you on such short notice. I need your advice.”

 _“Uh, sure.”_ There’s a muffled sound of shuffling over the line. _“But first, how’d you get my number?”_

“You know Director Moon?”

_“Yeah.”_

“There’s your answer.”

“Oh.” A beat passes and there’s more shuffling. “Okay. Makes sense. So what can I do for you, hyung?”

Doyoung takes a deep breath. It’s okay. He can do this. It’s just a simple question. Yuta’s out of the house right now, so there’s absolutely no shame in asking.

“How do you relationship?” he blurts out.

Jaehyun is silent for a beat. _“Uh…”_

“I mean,” Doyoung quickly amends before Jaehyun can answer fully. “How do you handle a...working married relationship? Like, what’re the things you’re supposed to do? How are you supposed to feel?”

Jaehyun’s voice is soft and teasing as he speaks again. _“Hyung, you’re older than me.”_

“I know, but,” Doyoung swallows his shame. “I don’t have any prior relationship experience. I don’t know how this is supposed to work.” He drops his voice to a whisper. “I didn’t even _want_ this.”

Jaehyun makes a confused noise. _“But you and Yuta-hyung are married.”_

“Yeah. It was against our wills and I tried to kill him for almost two months, Jaehyun.”

 _“Okay.”_ Jaehyun doesn’t sound very okay. _“Uh...I dunno how much help I’ll be to you, hyung. I’m kinda new to this, too.”_

“You haven’t tried murdering your own husband now, have you?” Doyoung asks.

_“No, I haven’t.”_

“Then you’re already doing a hell of a lot better than me. Now please, help me out.” Doyoung does not beg, but he’s coming close to that point. “I tried pushing him away, I tried to kill him, but he still sticks to me like a thorn in my side.”

_“And that’s a bad thing?”_

“Well—” Doyoung thinks it over. “I guess not really, but I don’t know how to deal with this. You know my line of work. It’s not good for relationships.”

Jaehyun hums thoughtfully. _“True, but aren’t we all in the same boat, then? We all risk our lives at least twice a month, there’s never a guarantee that we’ll be able to come home to our spouse.”_

“Exactly.”

_“So that’s why you tried pushing him away?”_

“Well, that and the fact that I honestly wanted to hang him by the ceiling fan with my whip,” Doyoung admits. “I really didn’t like him when we first met.”

_“But you like him now.”_

It’s not a question. Jaehyun’s tone is gentle and knowing, and Doyoung can’t find it in himself to deny it.

“I...don’t hate him anymore.” That phrasing doesn’t even sound convincing to himself. “But I also don’t know how to deal with him.”

_“How so?”_

“Like, he’s always been so fucking nice to me even though I treated him like dirt, and now I just feel like shit because he’s still so fucking nice,” Doyoung begins. “I tried driving him away with words, with action, and nothing. He didn’t even complain after I dislocated his hip during sparring.”

Jaehyun audibly winces. _“Ow.”_

“Yeah.”

_“Well...have you ever considered that maybe he just genuinely likes you?”_

Doyoung pauses. He thinks back to all their months of living together, trying to recall any instances of Yuta showing affection towards him. Barely anything comes up other than their ceaseless banter, teasing, and empty threats.

“I’ve never really thought about it,” Doyoung murmurs. “Or at least, not very seriously. He’s not very affectionate, and neither am I. We argue most of the time.”

Jaehyun hums. _“Okay, but what about the little things? Like, what’re some nice things he’s done for you that you might’ve overlooked?”_

Doyoung wracks through his memories from the past few months. “Well, I set up house rules and he didn’t break too many of them.”

_“That’s a start.”_

“And he bought me a hoodie as reimbursement for stealing my money to buy one for himself.”

_“Unconventional, but a nice gesture.”_

“He doesn’t get in my business and gives me my space.”

_“Considerate, but other than that, what else?”_

“He notices things about me.”

 _“Ooh.”_ Jaehyun's tone suddenly becomes inquisitive. _“Such as?”_

“One, that I have a tendency to push people away. Two, that I don’t like eating meat. Three, that the only exception to number two is fried chicken,” Doyoung lists. “Stuff like that.”

 _“Sounds like he’s been paying attention,”_ Jaehyun says. _“That’s good. It means he actually cares about you enough to notice the little things that make up you.”_

The shame comes back with a vengeance, and Doyoung feels suddenly nauseous. “Yeah, but I don’t know anything about him. Other than his past as a thief. And that he’s super fond of the hoodie he bought using my money. Or how he would go around in pajamas all day if he could. He hates business attire.”

Jaehyun chuckles lightly over the line. _“You sound like you know more than you think, hyung.”_

“What do you mean?”

 _“I mean,”_ Jaehyun says. _“Maybe you’re already handling the situation just fine.”_

Doyoung shakes his head, even though he knows Jaehyun can’t see it. “I can assure you, Jaehyun, I’m not.”

 _“Have some more faith in yourself, hyung,”_ Jaehyun replies. _“Keep doing whatever you’re doing now and go with the flow. But minus the threats, maybe. Be open to him. It’ll work out, trust me.”_

“You’re sure?”

_“I’m positive.”_

“Thank you, Jaehyun,” Doyoung says, and finds that he actually means it. “Really. I’m sorry if I disturbed your sleep over this.”

_“No problem, hyung. Hey, hit me up sometime and let me know how it goes, okay? Good luck.”_

The call ends, and Doyoung is left staring at his phone screen. A whole fifteen minutes, and he’s still left with no plan, no blueprint, no rules going forward in his relationship with Yuta. Jaehyun had made it sound easy, like having and maintaining a proper, working relationship is something to fall into and figure out.

However, Doyoung has lived practically his entire life with a plan. He likes order, rules, schedules. He likes being in control. Of having the power to manipulate his fate the way he sees fit. 

But the one time he does implement some sort of regulations between him and Yuta, it ends with the latter not even bothering to read the thing through. 

Doyoung finds the packet of rules sitting on the coffee table in the living room, where it had been since the night he gave them to Yuta. He picks it up, scans through the pages, before ripping the whole thing in half and discarding the pieces into the recycling bin.

Maybe it really is time to just hold his head up, stare at the sky without fear of the future, and say with his entire chest:

"Fuck the rules.”

* * *

The turning point in their marriage as Doyoung identifies it is when he gets a stalker.

And if anyone asks, he blames this wholly on Jungwoo. Because nobody else in the world—not even Taeyong or Taeil—can convince him to dress up and go out on a Friday night for drinks. Doyoung hates bars. He hates crowds. He hates drinking.

He hates any activity that involves contact with more than two people, period.

But Jungwoo is Jungwoo, and Doyoung is only so resistant against the younger’s puppy eyes and incessant begging before he wants to shoot either Jungwoo or himself in the head.

“Just one hour,” Jungwoo whines for the nth time that evening. “One hour. No more, no less. Please, hyung? Pleeeease?”

Doyoung takes in a deep breath to steel his nerves. “Who else is going?”

“Pretty much everyone.”

“Yuta?”

“Oh.” Jungwoo shakes his head. “He said he can’t. Too much work or something, and he doesn’t wanna lag behind.”

Doyoung begins walking away. “And neither do I.”

“Wait!” Jungwoo bounces into his view again, arms spread to block Doyoung’s way. “You and I both know you’ve finished your share of work. C’mon, hyung. You need to let loose sometime!”

“I can do that at home.” Doyoung moves to sidestep Jungwoo, but the latter blocks him again.

“I mean, time with your husband is nice and all, but have some fun outside the bedroom, yeah?” Jungwoo shoots him a wink. “Think for yourself, hyung! You need a break!”

“The only break I need right now is a nice long one from human contact and you,” Doyoung grouches as he forcibly pushes past Jungwoo. “And pull your mind out of the gutter. Yuta and I are not that intimate.”

“Okay, okay, what about a half hour?” Jungwoo calls from behind him. “And I’ll pay for your drinks! Please, hyung? We rarely get to hang out outside work. The team kinda misses you, you know?”

Doyoung sighs, bringing both hands up to rub at his aching temples. “If I agree, will you please never make me go out again?”

Jungwoo readily nods. “Until Christmas, sure.”

“New Year’s.”

“Deal.”

So Doyoung goes.

And boy, does he immediately regret it.

There’s a man who’s been eyeing him the entirety of the thirty minutes Doyoung spends inside the bar. It’s not subtle, either. Doyoung can see the calculating leer from four seats away. His stomach coils with disgust, and he finds himself completely ignoring his cocktail in favor of listing every method to escape from here and back to his apartment in record time.

After five minutes, he comes up with a short route that should only take about ten minutes on foot. Five if he runs. Maybe three if he decides that living really isn’t worth the struggle anymore.

After ten minutes, the man moves closer to their group, and Doyoung’s well-conditioned instinct to kill kicks in. This guy screams all sorts of shady, from his dark, stylish clothes to his chiseled features. Not bad looking, but definitely not someone Doyoung would even bother associating with, even for a one-night stand.

Yuta is so much better-looking. And his aura is bright, not brooding. His gaze is comforting, not aggravating. Or at least, not anymore. Now that’s something Doyoung can deal with.

He immediately shuts down that train of thought. It’s now been fifteen minutes, and Doyoung can literally feel the eyes on him, raking over his shirt with its top two buttons undone, down to his fitted black jeans.

Fifteen minutes, and he’s already questioning every life decision he’s made today.

“Doyoung,” Taeil says with a pat on his arm. “Are you feeling alright? You look on edge.”

“Direc—hyung, someone’s watching me,” Doyoung whispers lowly. “A man a couple meters away, wearing dark clothes.”

Taeil glances around under the pretense of checking for a clock, and when his eye focuses on Doyoung again, it’s narrowed in concern. “I think I know who you mean.”

“It’s...unsettling.”

Taeil pats Doyoung’s hand reassuringly. “If you ever need my help with anything, just call.”

“Will do, hyung.”

After twenty minutes, everyone around him is thoroughly buzzed and Taeyong is recounting a hilarious mission incident he was involved with in France. Doyoung ignores the better part of it, because those eyes are just not leaving him _alone_.

After twenty-five minutes, he’s already tugging on his coat and pulling bills out of his wallet to pay for his own drink.

And the second his watch indicates that his thirty minutes is up, Doyoung quickly excuses himself from the group and speed-walks out of the bar. From the corner of his eye, he sees the man eyeing him get up and leave also.

Great. Now he’s officially got a stalker. The universe must truly love fucking with him tonight.

If he runs, that might escalate things. The guy might have a weapon on him and Doyoung will be royally fucked if it’s a gun. A knife, he can evade easily. But he’s taking no chances with a psycho, or whatever the hell this guy is.

Doyoung keeps his pace steady, fast enough to breeze down the sidewalk, but not fast enough to arouse suspicion. His stalker isn’t far behind, and follows diligently, all the way from the bar to the apartment complex.

And he’s still following Doyoung, even into the complex’s lobby. At this point, there’s only two things that can happen. Doyoung can either unleash hell and rip this guy apart, or he can play his cards right, and see if there’s another way to dispose of this guy.

“You’ve been following me all night.” Doyoung turns to face the man behind him, cocking a hip to the side and crossing his arms over his chest. “So are you gonna tell me what you want?”

The man raises his hands and smiles disarmingly. “Nothing bad, I promise.”

 _Red flag. Big red flag._ _Abort, abort._ “Oh, sure. What do you want, then?” Doyoung asks, playing coy.

“A night with you, pretty thing.” His stalker steps forward, giving Doyoung another obvious once-over. “You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. So, what do you say? Just one night.”

That’s the shittiest pick-up speech Doyoung has ever heard in his life. It’s borderline pathetic. “Sure,” he purrs, pouring as much seduction into his voice as he can as he leans forward. From this distance, he can quickly discern no visible weapons on the man. “Why don’t you come up with me, then?”

It’s almost too easy to lure the stalker up to his floor. The entire way up, Doyoung silently wonders about how mad Taeyong will be at him for murdering someone on NCT’s property. 

Then he realizes that he really doesn’t care.

“Hey, do me a favor alright?” Doyoung says sweetly, tracing a finger over the man’s chest when they come within five meters of his door. “Stay right here, I’ll just drop my coat off at my brother’s place and then we can head to my flat the next floor up for some fun.”

The man smirks, lifting his hand slightly to rest on Doyoung’s waist, giving it a light squeeze. “Sure, pretty thing.”

Doyoung smiles brightly with practiced ease, before unlocking the door to his apartment and stepping inside. He lets out a loud groan the moment the door clicks shut behind him.

Yuta glances at Doyoung from where he’s sitting on the couch, tapping away on a laptop. There’s papers and highlighters strewn all over the couch on either side of him. “Oh hey. Welcome home. What’s wrong?”

Doyoung calmly hangs up his coat. “You won’t believe it, Nakamoto. A man is stalking me.”

“What?!” Yuta nearly flings his laptop off his lap. “Who? Where is he?”

“Standing outside.”

“And you didn’t fight him or anything?” Yuta asks incredulously. 

Doyoung shrugs. The thing is, he would like nothing more than to pummel the guy until he’s a bloody mess and defenestrate him from the top floor, but the guy probably knows a thing or two about fighting, given his build. Doyoung could probably do some damage, but without his signature weapons on hand, it’s going to be a long, ugly fight. If he wants to win, he needs his garrote, a gun, or at the very least, his whip. With any of those three, he has more than a favorable chance of taking anyone down, even if they’re two weight classes above him.

Needless to say, Doyoung has seen a lot of combat in his life. He doesn’t really enjoy fighting per se, but it’s always satisfying to prove just how much of a threat he can be to another person. Killing them in the end is just a bonus.

But when Yuta stands straight up, makes a beeline for the kitchen, and comes out holding a cast-iron frying pan like a baseball bat, Doyoung thinks this is one fight he ought to stay out of.

Yuta turns around right as he reaches the front door. “I’ll be right back.”

Doyoung waves him off. “Take your time.”

Yuta grins and throws open the door, and Doyoung catches it before it can slam shut. He hears a faint, “Oi, asshole!”, before a sickening thud as metal meets skin.

It’s truly an otherworldly experience, watching Yuta beat the living shit out of someone in the middle of the hallway with a frying pan. Doyoung didn’t even know those things could fly so far when thrown. That, or Yuta’s got some pretty impressive arm strength.

Doyoung silently adds frying pan to both his mental array of weapons and the grocery list.

“You know,” Yuta says ten minutes later, spattered with blood and sweat rolling down his temples as he heaves the bloody, battered body into a body bag. “I never thought I’d be spending my Friday night committing murder and having to hide a body.”

“You killed someone who had ill intentions against a NCT agent,” Doyoung replies flatly. “According to guideline 84, that can be classified as an act of protective valor. You won’t be penalized.”

“Sweet.” Yuta grins. “So the next bastard who even tries to flirt with you, hit me up. I’ll come swinging.”

“Chivalrous.” Doyoung pulls out his phone and shoots two familiar numbers a quick text. “I got cleanup on the way. And Taeil.”

“Why Taeil?”

“He’s virtual cleanup.”

“Ah.” Yuta nods in understanding. “Smooth operation, I like it. Hopefully all the other assholes I’ll have to keep away from you will go away just as easily.”

Doyoung looks up. “You care that much about me?” he asks.

Yuta crams the broken limbs into the bag unceremoniously. “Of course. Like it or not, I’m technically still your husband. And you know my past. People like me, we don’t like others taking what’s ours.”

Doyoung chuckles as they zip up the bag. “Don’t bother, Nakamoto. I can take care of myself. I’ve been doing this a long time already.”

“Being an agent? Or killing people?”

“Both.”

Yuta grunts as he heaves up the bag over his shoulder, holding the legs as Doyoung takes the shoulders. “How long?” he asks.

A faraway look glosses over Doyoung’s eyes, and they drift to everywhere but Yuta. “Four years as an agent, eight years killing.” His voice is hollow, sounding like an echo in the empty hallway. 

“Wait,” Yuta mutters as he tries to calculate the years back in his head. “So you started killing people when you were what, twelve?”

Doyoung picks up the bloody pan and leads the way down the hall. “Pretty much.”

“What got you into it?”

No _“Why’d you start killing so young?”_

No _“Who’d you kill at that age?”_

No _“You’re a monster! A psychopath!”_ Doyoung tends to hear that one a lot when he brings up his past.

Yuta looks sincere and kind when they meet eyes again. His voice holds no judgement, only a patient kind of curiosity as he asks again, “What got you into killing, Doyoung?”

“My mother,” Doyoung answers finally as they hit the button for the elevator. “She taught me everything I know.”

The words leave him feeling raw, vulnerable in a way he hasn’t felt in years, but knowing that it’s Yuta he’s speaking to makes it a little more tolerable. He most likely won’t understand how Doyoung is feeling right now, but that’s not something he’d blame Yuta for. Not many people even know this part about his life, anyways. 

Yuta chuckles and shoots Doyoung a cheery smile over his shoulder. “So it’s in the blood, then? Is assassination like the family business or something?”

Doyoung nods. “I guess you can say that. Though, it’s more like legacy.”

“Legacy?”

“Mm.”

Yuta purses his lips in thought. Doyoung mentally prepares himself for another dig at his past, but it doesn’t come. Instead, Yuta turns his head back towards the elevator doors. His voice is sincere when he speaks again.

“She must’ve been one badass woman, then. A beautiful, cunning, no-nonsense badass.”

Doyoung smiles despite himself. “She was. And more.”

Yuta hums, but doesn’t ask for emphasis on the ‘more’, and for that, Doyoung is grateful.

* * *

As predicted, Taeyong is NOT happy when he receives the incident report from Doyoung the following week, along with the bill for crime scene cleanup and virtual erasure of all traces of his stalker from the online world.

“You know, you can’t just kill your way out of every shitty instance in life, Doyoung!” Taeyong scolds.

Doyoung rolls his eyes. “It’s on the agency’s dime, anyways. And he stalked me, Taeyong. Stalked. That’s illegal.”

“So is murder.”

“It was self-defense. He touched me.”

“Was he armed?”

“No.”

“Then why the hell didn’t you just call the police or anything?”

“Taeyong, what the fuck do you take us for, then?”

“We’re secret intelligence, not police. Petty things like this—”

“My safety was threatened,” Doyoung deadpans. “It wasn’t _petty_.”

" _You_ are petty."

Taeil passes them by on his way to his office, and only offers Taeyong an apologetic shrug and Doyoung a raised coffee-mug salute when he comes within hearing range.

Doyoung ignores Taeyong’s fuming and salutes right back.


	5. Chapter 5

It takes Doyoung the better part of a whole year to come to terms with his relationship with Yuta, but once he does, everything in his life feels suddenly...righter.

Waking up with another body by his side and Yuta’s arm draped over his abdomen becomes routine. It takes a while, but eventually Doyoung grows accustomed to Yuta’s need to cuddle something in his sleep. He even buys him a body pillow for Yuta’s birthday, but it somehow always manages to end up on the floor. One night, Doyoung swears he sees Yuta literally growl at the pillow in his sleep and fling it off the bed, before shuffling closer to his side and wrapping an arm securely around Doyoung’s midsection.

So in the end, they just decide to put the pillow on the couch.

Cooking together on the weekends has also become tradition. Their cooking styles and tastes differ quite a bit, but Doyoung thinks it’s a good learning curve for the both of them. He teaches Yuta how to cook healthy, vegetarian Korean dishes, and Yuta in turn teaches Doyoung how to make his favorite takoyaki, substituting some of the octopus inside with mushrooms or soy or anything that Doyoung won’t inherently gag at. Once they figured out their kitchen dynamics, Doyoung takes charge of all the vegetable dishes, while Yuta handles the meat. 

(“Because I’m not a fucking rabbit, Doyoung. You can eat all the greens and carrots, damn it.”

“Fuck you, Nakamoto. I don’t like carrots either!”)

They work better now, also. Around headquarters, they keep things professional and straightforward. Doyoung no longer dislocates any of Yuta’s joints and Yuta stops provoking him to anger. Instead, they form a silent alliance—training together, sparring on friendlier terms, and exchanging input on briefings and reports.

Yuta learns more and more, all with surprising speed and skill, and it isn’t long until he’s assigned his first mission. It’s a simple espionage mission in Incheon, something almost all rookie agents are tasked with.

“I’m nervous,” Yuta confesses to Doyoung in the safety of their home the night before his mission. “Everything seems simple in theory but actual spying? I’ve never done it before.”

Doyoung finishes buttoning up his pajama shirt and slips under the covers next to Yuta. “Don’t worry too much about it. It’ll be just like you scoping out your target before a heist, except this time, it’s people. People who have information you want to steal. Try to think of it that way,” he suggests.

Yuta thinks it over, before a big smile stretches over his lips and he leans over, draping his arm over Doyoung’s chest in a loose hug. Outside of sleep, it’s a foreign sensation, but Doyoung doesn’t immediately want to punch Yuta for it, so he counts that as a win.

“You’re right, Doyoung. I’m a bit rusty, but hey, it’s just like my old heists.” Yuta sounds excited now. “I can finally steal again. God, it’s gonna feel so good.”

“Information, Nakamoto. Not their wallets,” Doyoung reprimands lightly.

Yuta laughs, loud and full. The sound pulls a small smile out of Doyoung as well. 

“What’s so funny?”

“My god, Doyoung,” Yuta manages through chuckles. “I robbed casinos. Museums. Grand galas. It almost feels like you’re looking down on me.”

“Well, show me what you’re capable of then, Nakamoto,” Doyoung retorts, crossing his arms over his chest as he watches Yuta fight back the last of his giggles. “Impress me.”

Yuta finishes laughing and leans forward into Doyoung’s personal space. His grin is sharp and mischievous as he trails a finger up Doyoung’s chest to his jaw, and gives his pulse a light tap.

“Watch closely then, Agent Kim,” he whispers. “I’ve got some tricks up my sleeve that even you can’t pull off in your lifetime.”

There’s a world of promises in Yuta’s eyes, not just for success and proving his worth, but for more. Always more. Doyoung stares into the dark orbs, and finds himself slowly, but steadily getting lost in them. He wants to uncover all the promises they hold. All the secrets they keep.

And Yuta, chipper and open as ever, might just let him.

* * *

The mission turns out to be a huge success. Not only did Yuta manage to gather all the information required of his targets, he even managed to bug their vehicle with a recorder and tracking chip. This, combined with the details of the target’s next moves, made them easy to capture.

“You have a lot of potential,” Taeil says as he scans over Yuta’s completed mission report. “We can definitely use your talents in infiltration and espionage.”

Yuta beams proudly. “Thank you, sir.”

“I hope you’re brushing up on your languages, then.” Taeil smiles kindly and extends a hand. “Congratulations on becoming an official member of our field, Agent Nakamoto.”

Cheers erupt all around the room as agents and trainees alike applaud the promotion. Yuta gapes at the title as he shakes Taeil’s hand. “Agent? I’m an agent now? So I don’t actually have to go through three continents for that title?”

Taeil gives him a funny look. “No, why? Who told you that?”

Yuta’s eyes narrow at Doyoung, who stands off to the side, looking completely too innocent with a cup of water and a placid smile. Taeil catches the direction of his glare and chuckles, clapping a hand on Yuta’s shoulder in reassurance.

“I see. Well, don’t worry about that too much, Agent Nakamoto. Agent Kim tells that to all the rookies when they first start out.”

Yuta’s glare doesn’t waver from Doyoung as he bites out, “Agent Kim is _mean_.”

Doyoung’s only response is an uncaring shrug, though his eyes betray his amusement. “You fell for it, Nakamoto.”

“Why would you even bother telling me that in the first place?” Yuta complains. “Have you any idea how psyched out I was?”

“I’m aware,” Doyoung assures calmly. “To be frank, I initially wanted you to be scared.”

“But _why_?!”

“I really didn’t like you then. I wanted you to suffer,” Doyoung replies bluntly. “I would’ve told you the truth after we got things sorted out, but then your reaction wouldn’t be half as good as it is now.”

Yuta’s face turns an unnatural shade of red, and Taeil wraps a hand around Yuta’s arm before he can make for Doyoung and throttle him.

“You are so MEAN!” Yuta screeches, thrashing wildly in Taeil’s grip. “Mean, Doyoung! So fucking mean!”

Doyoung turns to Jungwoo and raises his hand, cupping it mockingly by his ear. “You hear something, Woo?”

Jungwoo blinks back prettily. “Sounds like coffee o’clock, if I say so myself. I’m dying for an iced caramel macchiato.”

“I could use some caffeine for an energy boost,” Doyoung says, shooting Yuta a pointed stare as the latter continues making threatening grabby hands at him. “Let’s go.”

“This isn’t over!” Yuta yells across the room as Doyoung and Jungwoo turn to leave. “Wait til we get home, Doyoung! This. Isn’t. Over!”

“Ooh.” Doyoung turns and shivers theatrically. “I’m scared shitless, Nakamoto. What do you intend to do? Confiscate my laptop? Ban me from the kitchen?”

“Worse!” Yuta shouts in return. “Way worse!”

Doyoung smirks and turns back to walking the other way. “Try me, Nakamoto. I’ll have your dead body disposed of before midnight and your blood cleaned before dawn.”

“You think I’m scared of you?” Yuta reaches behind him with his free hand and grabs the nearest object he could reach, which happens to be a computer mouse. He flings his arm back and chucks it at Doyoung. The other agent instinctively ducks without breaking his stride, and Jungwoo’s arm darts out over Doyoung’s head to catch the mouse in one sharp movement. 

“Wow. Good aim, Agent Nakamoto!” Jungwoo calls over his shoulder, setting the mouse on the nearest desk. “You’ve certainly been training well!”

Yuta wants to kill him. He wants to kill them both.

This must be the way Doyoung felt for the first few months of their acquaintance. Yuta gets it now. He can see the appeal of just going berserk and spilling the blood of anyone who wrongs him.

But he can’t do that at the moment, because Taeil’s got one hell of a hold, and Doyoung and Jungwoo have officially disappeared down the hall to the break lounge. Yuta’s indignant anger sizzles just a little longer, before fading away quickly to tiredness.

Damn it.

Now he can’t even wait until they go home to give Doyoung a piece of his mind, because he can’t even stay mad enough to do so.

Taeil lets go of Yuta carefully. “Are you feeling better now, Agent Nakamoto?”

Yuta sighs, rubbing his sore arm. “Yeah, fine.” He glares at the direction Doyoung disappeared off to. “I still wanna give him what’s coming to him, though.”

“Physically?”

“Nah. Too tired.”

Taeil smiles gently. “Would you really hit him over this, though?”

“No.” The response is automatic and honest. “I would never hurt him.” Yuta’s eyes narrow in mischief as he continues to look down the hallway. “But I can annoy the shit outta him. And he can’t kick me out or kill me. So we’ll be even soon enough.”

Taeil nods understandingly. He doesn’t say anything, but his one eye shines with both pity and amusement. 

And Yuta hopes with all his heart that the pity is directed at Doyoung and not him. 

* * *

“Kim Doyoung, you are the cruelest, most cold-hearted, uptight bastard I’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting!” Yuta whines when they return home that night. “I can’t believe I psyched myself out over this mission and waited for big overseas missions just so I could earn that title! But no! They just threw it at me after one shot! You liar!”

Doyoung snickers at Yuta’s mindless ramblings and tunes out the better half of it as he sets down his bag and heads to the bedroom. “Hey, don’t blame me too much, Nakamoto. All those other agents at NCT, and you never bothered asking a single one of them for confirmation. That’s on you.”

Yuta huffs as he trails after Doyoung. “Yeah, because I thought I could take your word for it.”

“You thought wrong.”

“I sure did,” Yuta agrees indignantly, plopping down on the bed with his arms crossed. “You’re an asshole, Doyoung.”

“Thank you.” Doyoung pulls off his jacket and begins to undo the buttons of his shirt. Yuta’s eyes trail the several inches of pale skin that are exposed as Doyoung pulls off his shirt and discards it into the hamper. Doyoung’s toned, muscular without being bulky, and his body’s all elegant lines and rough scars. A particularly large, ragged line crosses over his back, looking like a giant claw had raked over the skin there.

“Like what you see, Nakamoto?” Doyoung asks, arching a brow pointedly.

Yuta licks his lips, and feels his annoyance wane for just a second. “Hmm...can’t say I hate it.”

“Isn’t that nice.” Doyoung turns around, and Yuta notices that the long scar on his back extends to his front as well, running across one shoulder and down his left pectoral. He’s never seen Doyoung shirtless before, but now he can understand why Doyoung wouldn’t be too keen of just walking around topless all the time.

“You’re staring, Nakamoto.”

“I am,” Yuta admits, transfixed by the scars littering Doyoung’s torso. “What the hell happened to you?”

Doyoung looks down at himself, as if just realizing he’s been standing half-naked in front of Yuta for the last three minutes. “Well," he says plainly. "I’d tell you, but it’s a long, shitty story that I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t want to hear this late in the day.”

Yuta leans forward, propping his chin against his palm. “Dumb it down, then. I’m listening.”

"You sure you want to know?"

"I'm sure."

Doyoung sighs, turning his back on Yuta once more. “Torture.” 

That one word sends an unpleasant jolt through Yuta’s body. He doesn’t want to believe it—that all those scars on Doyoung’s body could have come from someone cruel enough to wish him misery. He doesn’t want to think about how Doyoung could have been in excruciating pain, for god knows how long. 

But that long scar stares right back at him.

“They did it with a blunt knife. Red-hot,” Doyoung continues. “It was my second major mission abroad.”

“Twisted bastards,” Yuta breathes, standing up and taking a step towards Doyoung. He reaches forward and traces his fingertips lightly over the ragged scar tissue, and Doyoung lets him.

“It’s whatever.” Doyoung snaps off his belt in one fluid motion and sets it aside. “I was a kid. Got too careless, got captured, got tortured. Shit happens. Taeil bailed me out.” His gaze flits to the carpet below. “You really should’ve seen him back in his heyday. None of our targets ever lived to see the end of the day, not if Taeil had anything to do with it.”

“Christ,” Yuta hisses is disbelief. “You were brutally tortured and you make it sound like no big deal.”

Doyoung shrugs, and the scar moves fluidly with the gesture. “It could’ve been worse.”

“But it shouldn’t have happened.” The anger in Yuta’s eyes fizzles out, replaced by a deep sadness. “I don’t know what you did, but you didn’t deserve this, what the fuck.”

“I told you it’s a shitty story,” Doyoung sighs. When Yuta presses a little closer, he doesn’t stop him. “Is your curiosity satisfied? Can I go take a shower now?”

“No.” Yuta stretches out both hands, and before Doyoung can back away or stop him, wraps them around Doyoung’s waist. His cheek presses against Doyoung’s shoulder, hands gently tracing the scars crossing the taller’s back.

“Nakamoto,” Doyoung says flatly, making no move to pull away. “What are you doing?”

“Hugging you.”

“ _Why_ are you hugging me?”

Yuta nuzzles his cheek into the skin on Doyoung’s shoulder, and isn’t surprised when he discovers yet another scar there. “Because I want to.”

“Nakamoto,” Doyoung groans. “Let go of me.”

“I refuse.”

“Nakamoto.”

“No.”

Doyoung puts his hands on Yuta’s arms and tries to physically pry them off his person, but he’s not using half the strength Yuta knows he’s capable of. “Nakamoto, get off me.”

Yuta tightens his hold. “I won’t.”

“Nakamoto, goddamnit—”

“This makes me sad,” Yuta blurts out, and the outburst surprises himself as much as it does Doyoung. In hindsight, he probably shouldn't have said that, but either way, it's out now, so Yuta mentally buckles up and prepares for the inevitable.

A beat of silence passes, before— “Why would it make you sad, Nakamoto?” Doyoung asks. “I’m the one who went through the torture.”

“That’s why it makes me sad,” Yuta explains. His fingers brush gently over the raised scars on Doyoung’s back. “Because I hate seeing you hurt.”

Doyoung turns his head to hide his blush, but Yuta sees it anyway. “I’m fine now.”

Yuta scoffs. “Yeah. Fine. As if you’re not 50% scar tissue by area coverage. Sure. Perfectly _fine_.”

“Well, be glad you didn’t have to go through something nearly as bad to get your title,” Doyoung says in an attempt to lighten the mood. “You have it pretty easy now, Nakamoto. What happened already happened. Why’re you so hung up on it anyways?”

Yuta looks up, and his eyes are honest and open, laying his emotions bare for the world to see. Doyoung sees red rims, shining gloss, and a pain in Yuta that feels somehow both foreign and familiar. He swears he’s seen that emotion somewhere before. He swears he knows what it is.

“Kim Doyoung,” Yuta starts, voice steady despite looking like he might cry. “Not only are you a stone-cold, uptight bastard, you’re a damn stupid one, too.”

The jab hurts a little, but Doyoung doesn’t feel as insulted as he probably should be. “What do you mean?”

Yuta takes a step back, looks Doyoung in the eyes, keeps his arms locked around his husband’s waist, and holds his head high. “Doyoung,” he says firmly. “I’m in love with you.” Doyoung’s eyes widen, and Yuta presses on. “I have been. For a while.” He pauses. “A long while.” Frowns. “Too long.”

“How long?”

Yuta smiles faintly. “The night I told you I stole your money to buy a hoodie. That long.”

Doyoung’s mouth drops into a perfect ‘o’. “We were basically strangers then!”

“It was our first month together, yeah,” Yuta agrees. “But we weren’t strangers.”

“I was horrible to you!”

“You weren’t that bad,” Yuta chuckles. “You didn’t slit my throat when I was sleeping. You didn’t kick me out. You let me keep the hoodie.” His eyes soften, and that peculiar emotion shines brighter in them. “That hoodie, Doyoung. The first thing my husband ever bought me.”

“You stole my money,” Doyoung deadpans.

“You didn’t want it back,” Yuta counters.

“I—” Doyoung shifts his eyes to the open closet, where he catches a glimpse of the familiar gray fabric. Two sets of it. “No, I didn’t.”

“And that’s what made me love you,” Yuta says. “You’re scary, no doubt. You’re a real pain in the ass sometimes. You’re always so rigid. But,” he leans forward again, hugging Doyoung close. “You’re a good person, Doyoung.”

“But I—” Doyoung chokes on his words. “I was so cruel to you.”

“You’re not cruel.” Yuta presses his face against Doyoung’s bare neck. “Mean? Certainly. But cruel? No, Doyoung. You’re not cruel. You’re a good person.”

There’s a faint wetness against his neck, and Doyoung feels his heart sink a little when he realizes that it had been tears—Yuta’s tears—against his skin.

“You can yell at me all you want,” Yuta adds. “You can be mean to me. You can have your space. You can hit me. I don’t care. I just…I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

Doyoung raises his arms to wrap around Yuta. The motion is unpracticed, a little clumsy, but earnest. “No promises, Nakamoto, but I’ll try.”

“No. Promise me you won’t get yourself hurt like that again.”

“Nakamoto—”

“God, Doyoung. Promise me, damn it.”

“Fine,” Doyoung relents. “I promise.”

Yuta nods and doesn’t say anything else. Doyoung’s hands run soothingly up and down Yuta’s back, the slide smooth over his jacket. There’s a funny feeling in his chest, not tight like anguish but not light like happiness. It’s a weighted feeling, heavy and full but not dreadful. And looking down at Yuta, the feelings only intensify.

The Yuta Doyoung holds in his arms is different. He's not the crazed, pan-slinging maniac who killed a stalker in cold blood. He's not the thief who broke into hotel rooms just for a Rolex. He's not even the smart-mouthed asshole who got a kick out of stealing Doyoung's money or fighting over what to eat for dinner.

This Yuta is fragile. Vulnerable. Wholesome. He's asking for a promise he doesn't know can ever be kept, but he asks anyways, because he cares. He cares too much.

And Doyoung never promises people anything except death. He doesn’t know how to keep a promise towards anything else. Not safety, not protection, nothing.

But this is Yuta asking. 

Yuta, who says he’s in love with Doyoung. Who shows Doyoung love and affection that he doesn't know what to do with. Who says kind assurances just as easily as he can hiss scathing insults.

So that only means one thing.

From this point on, anyone who tries to lay a harmful hand on Doyoung will just have to die first.

And anyone who tries to harm Yuta will have to die before those people.

That much, Doyoung can guarantee.


	6. Chapter 6

One night.

Doyoung would just like for one peaceful, calm, unbothered night. Just one night where he can go home, cook food, see his husband, and take a shower with _some_ semblance of normalcy. A night where the biggest worry on his mind is more like if they have enough vegetables in the house instead of life-and-death situations.

But no.

NO.

Life isn’t “normal”. Nothing is ever “normal” for Doyoung. 

Sure, he got home alright, and cooked the food he likes, but there is nobody to share it with. Yuta doesn’t come home at his usual time, and his last call to Doyoung has been almost a whole week ago. That’s the thing about missions abroad. Contact and communication always gets a little iffy after the first week overseas. 

It’s been two weeks now, and Doyoung isn’t sure whether to be impressed, worried, or indifferent towards the fact that his husband—a relatively new field agent—is spying on people in a foreign country thousands of miles away, where Doyoung can’t help or save him if he’s in danger.

And this separation—it’s killing him.

Doyoung would sooner shoot himself in the face than admit it out loud, but he never realized how empty the apartment feels when Yuta’s not around. There’s no laughter reverberating off the walls, no teasing jokes or snide comments, no cuddling in the night or hugs around the kitchen.

Just...nothing.

Doyoung doesn’t know how he managed to live the last several years of his life in this sort of loneliness. All that time spent pushing people away and thinking he was content in solitude only ended up proving just how much he needed someone by his side. Someone to ground him to reality and show him that the world isn’t always shit. Someone to say kind words to him and mean it with every inch of their being. Someone who would trust him with their weaknesses and have Doyoung trust them with his.

These thoughts follow him all night around the apartment and into the shower, where Doyoung now stands, brooding under a spray of hot water and scrubbing at the same place on his arm for the last three minutes.

He misses Yuta.

The realization doesn’t come as some sort of eureka moment or even a haunting epiphany like the time he discovered that he really doesn’t hate Yuta as a person. It’s more like a slow crawl, something he knows would come but is still a little unsettled by when it finally arrives.

Sighing, Doyoung squeezes some more body wash onto his washcloth and begins scrubbing his other arm. The only sounds he can hear is the rush of water against his skin and the rhythmic, suddy swipes of the washcloth going up and down his limb. There’s no loud music playing from the living room, no commentary from those ocean documentaries Yuta likes to watch, no mindless rambling from the bedroom.

Doyoung closes his eyes, focuses on the feeling of water pouring over him, and takes a deep breath. When he puts some effort into it, he can hear Yuta’s voice inside his head, saying all sorts of brazen nonsense.

“Oh my god, Doyoung, you won’t believe it!”

Doyoung has no idea what Yuta wants him to believe.

“Like, there was this mob of people with guns and shit at a dinner party! Black-tie! Just sitting there casually with semis under the table! What the fuck?”

Doyoung chuckles a little at that.

“I swear, I almost got shot but hey, training kicked in pretty well. Oh, and I killed a lot of people while I was at it.”

There’s a faint click, and Doyoung wonders distantly where that sound came from.

“Ah, shit. Taeyong’s gonna have a cow when he sees me like this. I mean, red is definitely my color, but this shit’s turning brown now. Damn.”

Before Doyoung can even laugh at the little spiel his imagine-Yuta is spewing, the shower curtains yank open with a deafening screech, and Doyoung screams, pulling a small knife from a hidden compartment in the wall and raising it at the intruder.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Doyoung wonders at what point in his life did his default reaction to being seen naked involve pulling out a knife instead of covering himself.

“Who the _fuck_ —” he roars.

“Woah, hey!” Yuta takes a step back, raising his hands up placatingly. “Fucking hell, Doyoung, it’s just me!”

Doyoung blinks. Wipes away some water from his face. Blinks again. Yuta’s still standing there.

“When the _fuck_ —”

“Like five minutes ago, did you not hear me talking earlier?”

Oh. So that voice wasn’t just Doyoung’s imagination. But then…

“How the _fuck_ —”

Yuta jerks a thumb over at the lock on the bathroom door. “Ex-thief. Now a spy. Lockpicking is easy.”

“What the _fuck_.”

“Honestly, same.” Yuta spreads his arms, and it’s just then that Doyoung realizes that his clothes are completely spattered with blood, from neck to knees. Yuta’s white button-down and gray slacks are completely ruined. They’ll probably have to turn those into dishrags or something. Those clothes are beyond saving.

“Why the _fuck_ —” Doyoung slides his knife back into its little hidden corner of the wall. “—did you have to just come barging in here? I’m taking a shower!”

“I know.” Yuta tugs the curtains further back, before stepping into the shower as well, dressed in everything but his shoes. “Also, since when did we start keeping knives in the shower? Someone could stab themselves by accident.”

Doyoung stares in horror as the hot water starts drenching Yuta. “Nakamoto, what the hell are you doing?”

Yuta unhurriedly begins to unbutton his shirt. “Taking a shower,” he answers plainly.

“With your clothes on?”

“Gotta get a head start on removing the bloodstains, you know?” Yuta finishes unbuttoning his shirt and pulls it off, the fabric now sopping wet and streaked with brown stains. He wrings it out, and Doyoung sighs in disgust as the bloody water splashes him. 

“How the hell did you get through airport security looking like that?”

“I didn’t use the airport. Taeyong sent the private jet for me.” Yuta throws the shirt out and begins to undo his pants. He meets Doyoung’s eyes right as his fingers begin to unzip his fly, and shoots him a smug smirk.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” Doyoung echoes.

“Did you miss me while I was gone?”

Doyoung sighs. Yuta watches him expectantly as he pulls off his wet pants and tosses them out.

“Yes.”

“Aww, I missed you too!” Yuta cooes, balling up his socks and discarding them also. “I missed your food.”

“That’s it?”

“I missed sleeping with you,” Yuta continues. “In the same bed. Like the hotels in Barcelona are nice and all, but I don’t have a human cuddle pillow.”

“And?”

“I missed your company.” Yuta tugs hesitantly at the waistband of his boxers, even though the wet fabric is already leaving nothing to the imagination. “Your nagging. Our banter. Watching TV together or whatever.” His cheeks tint pink, and Doyoung can’t tell if it’s from the hot water or embarrassment. “I just missed you.”

Doyoung makes sure to keep his eyes at a respectable level as Yuta steps out of his underwear and drops it out with his other clothes. His eyes are trained on Yuta’s face—that stupid, chipper, beautiful face he’s grown to care for over the past year. He doesn’t dare look any lower.

Yuta snatches the washcloth out from Doyoung’s hand and begins scrubbing himself down with it. Doyoung heaves a sigh through his nose and reaches back for some shampoo instead. He’s already washed his hair, so he squirts a generous amount into his palm and brings it to Yuta’s head.

“Ooh, that feels good,” Yuta says with a content hum as Doyoung begins washing his hair for him. “You’re pretty good with your hands, Doyoung. Had I known this I would’ve jumped you in the shower the moment you didn’t want to kill me all the time.”

“Just shut up.” Doyoung hopes the steam and heat is enough to disguise his blush. His fingers continue to scratch at Yuta’s scalp, sudding up every inch of his head. Yuta’s hair is thin and soft, dyed a dark, ashy gray that definitely didn’t happen before he left for Barcelona. The color comes off as black when wet, but it’s still not quite dark enough.

He scoots slightly to bring Yuta directly under the spray of hot water, rinsing out the suds. Yuta has moved on from scrubbing his body to washing his face, and Doyoung turns around for some conditioner. They rotate again, and Doyoung slicks up Yuta’s hair with the stuff as the latter gazes up at him through wet lashes.

“Doyoung.”

“Hm?” Doyoung pulls his hands away from Yuta’s hair. “What?”

Yuta smiles, wide and dazzling. “First, promise you won’t break any of my bones for asking you this, but it seems like the perfect time to do so.”

Doyoung has a feeling in his stomach about this, but he can’t decide whether it’s good or bad exactly. “I’ve never broken your bones before, Nakamoto. What makes you think I’m going to start now?”

“ _Doyoung_.”

“Okay, fine. I promise.”

“Good.” Yuta steps closer, until they’re standing almost chest-to-chest. “Can I kiss you?”

Doyoung swallows the lump that suddenly formed in his throat. “Wh—” his voice cracks when he opens his mouth to speak. Embarrassing. “What brought this on so suddenly?”

Yuta fixes Doyoung with an unimpressed stare. “Doyoung, we’ve been married for over a year.”

“And for about half of which I had homicidal tendencies for you.”

“We’ve been sleeping in the same bed for the other half. A little more than that, actually.”

“It’s nice, and a habit.”

“I love you.”

“I—” Doyoung looks at Yuta, who’s staring straight back, all wide eyes and pink cheeks. “I…”

“You?” Yuta asks innocently.

Damn it. Damn it all. Doyoung can’t deal with this right now. Not when he was just missing his husband and then said husband comes barging into the bathroom when he’s taking a shower and now they’re showering together. This isn’t fair.

Yuta’s still watching him intently, shuffling slightly and waiting for an answer. He doesn’t touch Doyoung, because he knows his boundaries, but they’re still pressed so close. So, so close.

“I…” Doyoung sucks in a breath, willing all the determination he has inside him to just admit what he has been feeling since Yuta confessed. He admitted that he missed Yuta easily enough. This should be no different. 

Steeling his nerves, Doyoung turns his attention back to Yuta and bites back his pride, because there is absolutely no room for any of its bullshit right now.

“Nakamoto Yuta,” he begins. “You’re infuriating. You didn’t call me for almost a week then broke into the bathroom when I’m fucking showering. I could’ve stabbed you!”

Yuta nods, like he knows he’s terrible, and gestures for Doyoung to continue.

“But now we’re both crammed in here and I didn’t lie when I said I missed you and _fine_.” Doyoung lets out a breath and meets Yuta’s eyes. If the ground isn’t going to swallow him up, then he’ll dig his own grave with his dignity as the shovel. “I love you too.”

Yuta positively beams, though his eyes shine with uncertainty. “You mean it?”

Doyoung averts his gaze. His heart has no business beating this fast when he’s not in mortal danger, but it’s not listening to him. “I mean it.”

“I knew it,” Yuta teases, poking Doyoung’s cheek. “I knew you had it in you. God, and it only took you over a year to pull your head out of your ass.”

“Nakamoto—”

“So can I kiss you or not?”

“You—” Doyoung sighs, feeling his resolve weaken. “Do whatever you want.”

Yuta grins, before leaning forward and pressing his lips against Doyoung’s. The kiss is chaste and warm, just a press of lips against lips, but the sensation sends buzzes of electricity through Doyoung. And almost too soon, Yuta pulls away.

“Doyoung,” he giggles. “You’re a bad kisser. Don’t just stand there frozen and leave me hanging.”

“I’ve never kissed anyone before,” Doyoung confesses, and hopes that his voice doesn’t show just how embarrassed he is. “So...I don’t know how.”

“Really? No one? Ever?”

“No.”

This pulls a laugh out of Yuta, and if Doyoung had been embarrassed before, he’s a complete goner now. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, nothing!” Yuta assures quickly. “Just...I’m just glad.”

“For what?”

“Being your first kiss.” Yuta loops his arms around Doyoung’s waist and holds him close. “After all, if anyone else had been my husband’s first kiss, I’d have to find them and kill them.” Something about the tone of his voice tells Doyoung that Yuta’s not kidding.

“Glad I spared you the trouble then,” Doyoung replies, bringing his own arms around Yuta’s bare back. “And if you do go off killing people, at least let me know where you are.”

“Will do.” Yuta hums, dropping his head against Doyoung’s shoulder. “Your fingers are pruny.”

Doyoung lets out a startled laugh, not expecting that comment. “Well, I’ve been in here for a while now.”

“Move over.”

They awkwardly shuffle around to Yuta’s standing directly under the water now, his head still nestled securely under Doyoung’s jaw. He peppers little kisses up and down the column of Doyoung’s throat, and his hands run down the length of Doyoung’s back, tracing each scar, each line, each contour with the utmost care.

Doyoung has never considered himself touch-starved before, not once in all his years of living alone, but now, seeing Yuta again after they’ve been separated for weeks, he feels like he needs this touch. Needs this company.

Yuta kisses him again. 

And again. 

And again. 

Their mouths meet and meld together, clumsily at first, but smoother with each kiss, until Doyoung feels himself relax, letting Yuta teach him with his own lips.

“Doyoung,” Yuta whispers, pecking at his husband’s lips before gently tracing his tongue over Doyoung’s bottom lip. “Let me?”

Doyoung feels his entire body light on fire. Feelings he’s never experienced before flood into him like a tidal wave, and in Yuta’s secure hold, he lets himself be washed away.

“Yes,” he breathes out. “Yuta, please.”

Yuta smirks, before pressing his lips back onto Doyoung’s, coaxing them open and slipping his tongue inside. The sensation is hot and gentle and so good. Doyoung feels like he’s floating, like everything good in the world is concentrated in this one kiss, and he tries kissing back as best as he can, though judging by Yuta’s soft giggles, he’s not faring much better than before.

They pull apart, and Doyoung gasps, instinctively leaning forward to chase after Yuta.

“Ah-ah.” Yuta holds a finger to Doyoung’s lips. “It’s too crowded in here. Too hot. And I’m wrinkling up like some old hag.”

Doyoung takes a look down at himself, and has to agree. His fingers and even the palm of his hands have pruned up. His skin is blotchy and red from all the hot water and steam. 

“Tell you what,” Yuta says as he turns off the water. “We’ll continue this later, after I clean up my stuff and we’re both not horribly raisin-like.” He presses a chaste kiss to Doyoung’s lips and pulls the shower curtains open. “Alright?”

Doyoung nods, mind still muddled from the last kiss. “Alright.”

“See you soon, handsome.” Yuta throws him a wink, and Doyoung can’t find any more decency in him to not stare at Yuta’s bare backside as the man pulls off a towel from the towel rack and ties it around his waist. He picks up his clothes, wipes the floor dry with a smaller towel, and leaves with a small smirk on his lips.

Doyoung stares at the door for a totally inappropriate amount of time after Yuta’s left, before finally moving to get out of the shower himself.

Then he looks down and realizes that he has a more...prominent issue to deal with.

“Fuck.” Doyoung steps back into the shower, pulls the curtains closed, and turns the water to the coldest it can go.

* * *

The thoughts don’t leave Doyoung’s head even after he finally exited the shower, got dressed for bed, and brushed his teeth.

Though to be completely fair, he just ended up staring at his reflection and touching his lips for about ten minutes with a toothbrush sticking out of his mouth, but STILL.

Now, lying in bed propped against a couple pillows and a novel in his hands, Doyoung waits for Yuta to finish whatever it is he’s doing and join him. It’s the first time Yuta came home from a long mission abroad, and the first weekend in a long time that Doyoung can finally not wake up to cold sheets and eerie silence. He plans on enjoying it for as long as he can.

“Hey, handsome.”

Doyoung lifts his eyes off the page he’s reading, watching Yuta strut into the bedroom and flop onto the bed. He’s wearing a loose tank top and pajama pants, his hair now dry and fluffy atop his head. Doyoung reaches down and runs his fingers through the dark gray locks, giving Yuta’s head a light scratch.

Yuta sighs contently and leans into Doyoung’s hand. “God, that feels good.” He twitches when Doyoung brushes over a particularly sensitive spot behind his ear. “Ooh, do that again.”

“This?” Doyoung massages the area behind Yuta’s ear again, which draws out a long moan from the man next to him.

“Yeah, that.” Yuta lifts his eyes to Doyoung’s face and smiles impishly. “Have I told you how much I love you?”

“Yes, you have.”

“Do you believe me?”

Doyoung pauses his ministrations and looks down at Yuta. The bright smile is still there, but something about it seems almost shy.

“Of course I believe you,” Doyoung replies. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Yuta shrugs and scoots closer, until he’s pressed against Doyoung’s side. “I’ve been thinking a little, you know?”

Doyoung sets his book aside and wraps an arm around Yuta’s shoulders. “Thinking about what?”

“How we used to act around each other when we first started out.”

“Oh _god_ ,” Doyoung groans, burying his burning face in his free hand. “No. We’re not having this conversation tonight. I’ve had my share of feeling like a complete asshole already. Change the fucking subject.”

Yuta giggles and presses a kiss against Doyoung’s red cheek. “Fine, you big baby. And hey, it’s okay. All’s forgiven. I’m just happy you love me now.”

Doyoung slowly lowers his hand from his face. “That I do.”

Something flashes in Yuta’s eyes, and before Doyoung can react, the other is moving to straddle him, hands pressing against the pillows on either side of Doyoung’s head and legs caging in his body.

Doyoung gulps, feeling more heat flood to his face. “W-what are you doing?”

Yuta smiles, and it’s soft and tender and loving. It’s in his eyes, the way he brings up a hand to cup Doyoung’s cheek with, and the kiss he presses to Doyoung’s forehead, before steadily trailing down to his lips.

“Doyoung,” Yuta whispers between kisses. “I love you. I want you.”

The implications of those words aren’t lost to Doyoung even though his head is becoming slowly more and more hazy with pleasure. “You...want me?”

Yuta nods. His hands trace all the exposed skin they can reach, from Doyoung’s jaw to his collarbones, then the buttons of his pajama shirt.

“I want you,” Yuta repeats, tugging slightly on the first button. “If you’ll let me, Doyoung. Please. Let me love you. Let me prove it.”

“Yuta—” Doyoung swallows down the dry lump in his throat as his hands close over Yuta’s. “I’ve...I’ve never—”

“And that’s okay,” Yuta assures. “I’ll take care of you. I’ll treat you so well. The best. Only the best.” He leans down and kisses Doyoung again. “For you.”

Doyoung thinks he should be considering this seriously. His virginity, which he’s kept securely guarded for all of twenty-one years is on the line. Though to be completely fair, if he has to lose it to someone, Yuta would be the best option. He loves Doyoung. He has always treated him well. 

And Doyoung loses that battle just as easily as he leans up towards Yuta and whispers a careful, trusting “Please.”

After that, the night completely melts away. Yuta makes quick work of both of their clothes, which end up strewn all over the bed and the floor, and kisses Doyoung like he’s the last person on earth that’s worth loving. His hands run over Doyoung’s body in its full glory, exploring every inch of him and learning which areas makes him feel good.

Doyoung arches into Yuta’s touch, feeling both vulnerable and aroused, and that combination leaves a strange feeling inside him. Not strong enough to be pleasure, but too prominent to be anything else.

And Doyoung wants more of it.

“I love you,” Yuta says against Doyoung’s neck, before latching his mouth against the soft skin and biting down at the same time his hand wraps around Doyoung’s erection. 

“Oh,” Doyoung moans, long and reedy, and Yuta silences him with another kiss.

“Hush, baby.”

That pet name flies straight over Doyoung’s head and down towards his dick. “But I—” Doyoung whimpers as Yuta steals another kiss from him. “We need—”

“Way ahead of you.” Yuta sits back and reaches for his nightstand, pulling out a bottle of lube and a condom from the drawer. “Thought these would come in handy soon.”

Doyoung feels his jaw go slack. “Since when—”

“That’s not important.” Yuta shifts so that he’s kneeling in between Doyoung’s legs. “So, for real, will you let me?”

Doyoung hides his face behind his arm in a weak attempt to conserve a bit of modesty. “Yes. I already told you once. I don’t like repeating myself.”

“Good.” Yuta lifts Doyoung’s leg and presses a kiss against his inner thigh. “You won’t regret it.”

And Doyoung doesn’t. He doesn’t regret a damn thing. Yuta prepares him with the same gentleness as his caresses. He takes the time to figure out Doyoung’s sweet spots, and once that knowledge is acquired, he takes full advantage of every single one of them.

“Oh my god.” Doyoung throws his head back against the pillows as he feels his climax peaking. “Yuta, oh my god!”

“Let go, baby,” Yuta cooes, never stopping his thrusts as Doyoung becomes completely undone. “Come on.”

When Doyoung finally cums, it’s an out-of-body experience, so intense that he swears he blacks out, because when he comes to again, Yuta is already dressed and wiping him down with a warm washcloth.

“Still with me, Doyoung?” he teases, poking at Doyoung’s nose.

“Mm.” Doyoung’s too tired to muster anything else. He pats the space on the bed next to him, and Yuta shoots him another one of his soft smiles, before discarding the washcloth in the hamper and coming to lay down next to him.

“You’re still naked, you’ll get cold,” Yuta chides gently as he pulls the blankets over them both. “Want me to get you your pajamas? Or some underwear, at least?”

Doyoung shakes his head. “Fuck clothes. Sleep.”

Yuta chuckles and brings his arm over Doyoung’s abdomen. “You sure? If you wake up cold don’t blame me. I tried.”

“Yuta,” Doyoung murmurs drowsily, turning so he’s pressed up against Yuta’s body. “Shut up.”

Yuta shuts up, but his laughter rumbles inside his chest nonetheless, and Doyoung falls asleep to its gentle rhythm.

* * *

“Oh my fucking god.”

“What?”

“How am I gonna cover this, Nakamoto?”

Yuta looks at the hickey Doyoung is pointing at and shrugs. “Concealer? Or Maybe a scarf. Classic.”

Doyoung stares at his reflection in the mirror and sighs. “God, if I’d known I’d bruise like this—”

“Well, now you know!”

“It’s almost black, holy shit—”

“I can add some purples and pink too, if you don’t like black.”

“I will shoot you, Nakamoto.”

“You can’t do that, you love me!” Yuta sticks his tongue out and hops out of the immediate range of Doyoung’s fists. “And besides, you liked it. Don’t lie.”

“I wasn’t in my right mind back then.”

“Is there a time when you ever are in your right mind, then? Call me when the day comes.”

Doyoung slowly rotates his head to look at Yuta, and begins to open the medicine cabinet.

And Yuta, to his credit, immediately leaves the room.


	7. Chapter 7

**Present Day**

It’s probably the worst-kept secret in the agency that there’s a special room in NCT Seoul headquarters, filled with memorabilia of their members’ greatest accomplishments.

Specialized weapons designed by their best technicians—guns, gadgets, machinery, bioweapons. Chenle and Jaemin’s legendary aerial maneuver gear is displayed upright in a standing glass case, and a rough prototype of Doyoung’s signature mechanical wings hang from the back wall. A batch of nerve gas grenades are locked up in a bulletproof container half-hidden behind some of the more prominent displays.

There are also complete outfits, designed by Jungwoo and crafted by their young tech geniuses. A bulletproof tuxedo that has seen its days on almost every field agent alive. A stunning red ballroom dress that can strategically conceal two handguns and a semi, along with a dozen knives. An unsuspecting black tracksuit that acts as a full-body life vest. A fireproof windbreaker and jeans. Mounds of jewelry that can either act as boomerangs, knives, lockpicks, dart shooters, trackers, cameras, or bombs.

And of course, photographs of their agents’ most epic moments in battle. Many of them are blown up, but most are small and hung around the room in inconspicuous black frames. Moments of triumph after a long mission, the bloodiest gunfights and brawls, cunning evasive techniques, the graceful art of seduction, and a whole lot of explosions—all captured in varying levels of clarity from the agents’ specialized eyewear and jewelry.

“Woah,” Jisung marvells as he whips his head this way and that. “I’ve been here three years and I’ve never seen most of this stuff in the equipment room.”

“That’s not surprising,” Doyoung says as he leads the small group of junior agents further into the room. “This stuff isn't for taking.”

“It’s like a museum,” Renjun murmurs in awe as he runs his fingers along a display case showing off a bladed gauntlet. “Hey, isn’t this Agent Wong’s?”

Doyoung turns and looks at the weapon Renjun is gesturing to. “Yeah, the retractable bladed gauntlets. Many of the weapons and gadgets you see here were all custom-made to accommodate an agent’s specific fighting style.”

Renjun hums and points at another display case. “And the magnetic bladed boomerang?”

A fond look glosses over Doyoung’s eyes as he looks at the sharp metal boomerang and protective gloves resting next to it. “That belongs to Agent Nakamoto.” He taps gently on the glass display case. “Though the model he uses now is not nearly as big or visible. And enhanced with neurotechnology.”

“But why a boomerang?”

“He has a tendency to throw his weapons.” Doyoung smiles as a particular memory flashes in his mind. “Yuta has some truly impressive arm strength, I’ll tell you that.”

Renjun nods. “Do tell.”

“How far have you ever thrown a cast-iron frying pan?”

“What?”

“Uh...hyung,” Yangyang says, interrupting Doyoung’s peaceful reminiscing. “Not to sound weird or anything, but why is there a big framed picture of you looking like that crazy dude from The Shining?”

Doyoung looks over to where their newest agent is pointing, and immediately winces. It’s a photo from one of their joint missions last year, snapshotted by Yuta’s contacts. The resolution is a little blurry, but whoever worked on it must’ve been good with image refining technology for the picture to turn out like this.

Very good, actually.

Because there, in a 24” by 36” frame, is Doyoung—face completely deadpan and a manic gleam in his eye as he swings his arm back, laser whip poised and ready to bisect the ravishing young woman who’s holding Yuta by the lapels.

“Oh dear god,” he grumbles, bringing a hand to shield his eyes from the atrocity. “I can’t believe Taeil actually printed that out.”

All three junior agents immediately swarm him. “Story time.”

“Guys—”

“Please,” Jisung begs, a small pout playing at his lips as he looks at Doyoung with big glassy eyes. Doyoung would break at the gesture, if not for Yuta pulling the same thing whenever he wants something. 

“Just this one story, hyung. Then we won’t bother you again.”

“Yeah, just tell us how you became a psycho.”

Doyoung’s eye twitches.

“Please, hyung.”

“Pleeeaaassse?”

“Okay, okay!” Doyoung runs a hand down his face and silently rues the day he decided to mentor the new agents. “I hope none of you ate before this, though.”

Jisung tilts his head questioningly. “Why?”

“Because if you have, I’d rather you throw it up now than after I tell you what happened.”

Yangyang grins. “Oh, please. How bad can it be?”

“Pretty bad.”

Renjun frowns. “Which mission was this one?”

“Operation Whiplash.”

“Oh,” Jisung squeaks, suddenly looking a bit queasy. “Excuse me, Agent Kim. I think I’ll take your offer to go throw up after all.”

* * *

Yuta’s neck hurts.

Well, considering that he’s pinned against a wall with a fucking knife pressed against his pulse, that’s pretty much a given. The woman who’s holding the blade to him is strikingly beautiful, with light brown hair and piercing ice-blue eyes. Yuta is sure he’s never seen her face before, so she’s either foreign intelligence or a member of the underworld.

“Tell me, Mr. Nakamoto,” the woman purrs in fluent Japanese. “What’s your business here?”

Yuta smirks back. “My reputation precedes me, I see.”

“Indeed.” The knife digs into his flesh, and Yuta can feel himself starting to bleed. “Now, an answer, if you please.”

Yuta looks around the room they’re currently in—some sort of fancy lounge—and lets his gaze fall back on the woman. Her face is an immovable mask of cold, ruthless beauty. She is donning a sleek black evening gown, with a low neckline exposing a generous amount of cleavage. 

Under any other circumstances, Yuta would’ve welcomed this sort of attention from a woman so beautiful. He wouldn’t mind her leg pressed against his and her ample breasts just barely ghosting over his own chest as she threatens to slit his throat.

It’s a little erotic, actually.

“I’m really sorry, sweetheart,” Yuta says after a beat. “But I’m afraid I can’t tell you what you want.”

The knife presses in harder. Yuta’s definitely gonna have a scar after this. 

“And why not?” the woman hisses.

“Because,” Yuta stresses, flicking his eyes over to the door on the other side of the room. “Even though you’re very beautiful, intelligent, and got some kickass sparring skills, I’m a married man.”

The seductress frowns, before her mouth suddenly opens in a wide gasp, spurting out blood. Her hand drops the knife that’s been threatening to cut him, and Yuta smiles as he watches her eyes roll back, before she collapses onto the ground in two halves. Shrill screams pierce the otherwise silent room, and Yuta revels silently in its horror. 

There’s a sudden flash of light, and the screaming stops. Yuta looks down, and is surprised to find the woman’s head split in half, clean down the middle. Her once-beautiful face is now nothing more than a mess of bloody flesh and brain matter next to a pair of pristine black chelsea boots.

“Baby.” Yuta rubs away the blood dripping down his neck and licks it away. “You’re ruthless.”

Doyoung snorts and deactivates his laser whip, tucking it back into its sheath. There’s not a single speck of blood on him, though that might be more due to his clothes than anything else. Everything Doyoung wears is pitch black—from his turtleneck to the open trench coat and fitting slacks.

Yuta watches in morbid fascination as Doyoung picks up the woman’s torso in one hand and flings it against the wall like it weighs no more than a pillow. There’s a crazed look in his eyes that almost tinges his irises red—the only indication of his fury—and Yuta just knows that his husband is absolutely, positively, beyond a shadow of a doubt PISSED.

There’s probably an unspoken ethical guideline prohibiting the mutilation of a dead body out of respect, but Yuta has never seen Doyoung so mad in all their years of marriage, so he just stands back and watches.

“Having fun there, baby?”

“Yeah, of course,” Doyoung deadpans, dragging a severed leg over to a large mirror and smashing the glass with it before flinging it off to a corner of the room. “That bitch was touching a married man.” His left eye twitches as a dangerous smile creeps over his face. “A _happily married_ man.”

“Happily married, of course,” Yuta readily agrees, stepping over the woman’s severed torso and making his way towards his husband. “To only the best assassin in the world.”

Doyoung scoffs. “Don’t try to flatter me, Nakamoto.”

Yuta raises his hands placatingly. “Easy, handsome. You know I only speak the truth.”

Doyoung’s eyes wander over to Yuta’s face and narrow when he catches sight of the bloody cut just under his jaw. “She hurt you.”

“It’s nothing,” Yuta assures, ignoring the stinging pain that shoots through his neck whenever he moves. “Now come on, we should go. We can’t waste too much time here.” 

“Right. You’re right.” Doyoung dusts off his hands and tucks them in his pockets. “So did you finish everything on your end?”

“ _Doyoung_ ,” Yuta gasps in mock hurt. “How can you ever think otherwise? Didn’t you see the presents I left you on your way up here?”

Doyoung smirks. “I did. Your new toys are pretty efficient.”

“I only do the best work for my baby.” Yuta slings an arm around Doyoung’s waist as they exit the room together. “Can’t have you get your pretty hands too dirty now, can I? Did you like it?”

“Considering I didn’t slip and crack my head open on the marble stairs, yes. Yes, I do.”

The stairs are just as red and slippery as Yuta had left it over an hour ago, with bodies lining the marble steps and scattered in the foyer below. Blood pools under the corpses, forming small rivulets as they drip down the stone. They make their way down carefully, avoiding the particularly bloody areas, and Yuta keeps a firm hold on his husband to make sure they both don’t accidentally slip. Doyoung pulls out his phone once they hit the first floor and taps out a quick message before pocketing the device.

“Everything’s set.”

“Perfect.” Yuta grins, throwing the front doors open. “Now let’s blow this joint.” He pulls out a burner phone from his pocket, takes Doyoung’s hand, and bolts.

Doyoung laughs, a rush of pure joy washing over him as he watches Yuta’s hair blow in the night wind, his husband’s hand warm around his own. The sound of a helicopter arriving rumbles in the distance, and they barely manage to dart out of the metal gates surrounding the estate before Yuta dials a number on that phone and the grand manor explodes from the inside.

* * *

“So there you have it, the epitome of teamwork on dual missions,” Doyoung concludes. “Any questions?”

Renjun looks mortified. Jisung is clasping his hands together, expression awestruck. Yangyang is turning green.

“Hyung, you’re absolutely insane,” Renjun says, and he sounds genuinely disturbed. “Like okay, I get that I don’t have the best morals but _damn_.”

“You assassins are sick,” Yangyang mutters, suppressing a gag with his hand. “I’ve shot people before, but you guys are on something else.”

Doyoung shrugs, fingers drumming at his coiled belt. “When you’ve reached your breaking point, there’s many things you’d do just to regain some sense of stability,” he says sagely.

“You literally cut a bitch,” Yangyang deadpans. “In half! Then you went all berserker apeshit on that hoe and wiped the walls with her!”

“There was also a mirror.”

Yangyang turns around and dry heaves. Renjun and Jisung immediately jump out of his way. 

“Gross!”

“Aim somewhere else!”

“Oh, don’t worry about him, he’ll live,” Doyoung says breezily, clapping Yangyang hard on the back as he passes the junior agent. “Now if you look at the other end of the room—”

_‘Doyoung.’_

Doyoung pauses, adjusting his earpiece. “Yes, Agent Nakamoto?”

_‘I need you here, now. It’s urgent.’_

Doyoung looks back at the junior agents, who are all watching him curiously. “How urgent? I’m still in the Hall of Infamy with some of the juniors.”

_‘People might die. Leave the kids there and just come back to the East Wing. Please.’_

“Fine. I’ll be there.” Doyoung turns to the younger agents and shakes his head apologetically. “I’m sorry, but our tour ends here today. You three head back to the training dome. I have to go.”

“Wait, hyung!” Jisung calls as Doyoung begins to leave. “Where are you going?”

“To commit potential suicide or homicide,” Doyoung calls back. “I’ll decide when I get there.”

* * *

When Doyoung arrives at the ground floor of the East Wing, Yuta is already waiting for him, still in his training gear. He heaves a breath of relief and flashes Doyoung a small smile.

“Hey, handsome.”

“Hello, Yuta.”

“Listen, we have a situation.”

Yuta looks uncharacteristically anxious, wringing his hands and biting at his lips, and Doyoung’s internal protective instincts immediately kick in as he walks closer to his husband.

“What kind of situation?”

Yuta sucks in a breath sharply. “Mark just returned from a mission.”

Doyoung already hates where this is going. “And?”

“And he’s been acting weird so Woo and I took him to see Jeno, who found out that he’s been drugged.”

“And?”

Yuta wrings his hands harder. “And he’s on hallucinogens, Doyoung. It’s bad. He can’t even recognize us anymore.”

Doyoung feels his heart drop. “And?”

“And then we took him to the lab so Chenle can give him something to reverse the effects or at least sedate him without it getting too dangerous.”

“And…”

“And we failed.” Yuta looks at Doyoung pleadingly. “It’s a good thing we disarmed him before taking him down there, because the kid’s gone feral.”

Doyoung brushes past Yuta and books it towards the stairs. “Fuck’s sake, how bad is it?”

“Bad enough for Taeyong to show up,” Yuta replies as he chases after Doyoung. “Mark won’t stop screaming and slammed Hyuck in the face with a keyboard.”

Doyoung doesn’t pause as he speeds down the stairs towards the development lab. “It could be worse.”

“He stabbed Jaemin in the arm with a ballpoint pen.”

“It could still be worse.”

“He knocked Jeno out cold.”

“...I mean, still—”

“He almost strangled Woo with a charging cord.”

“Oh my god—”

“And he bit Taeyong in the leg. Twice. There was blood.”

“Okay, it’s bad.” Doyoung yanks open the doors leading to the lab and looks around frantically for the people involved. He spots them not too far away, all huddled in the tiny transparent panic room just off the side of Chenle’s section of the lab. Taeyong is holding Jeno in his arms, gently patting the boy’s cheek to try and wake him up. Jungwoo is pulling a strip of dark cloth tight around Jaemin’s left bicep, neck an angry red and bruised. Chenle is curled in on himself on the floor, sobbing hysterically as he clutches his tablet in his hands. Donghyuck is pressing his nose against the palm of his hand, the other holding a phone to his ear.

Jaemin catches sight of them first, and frantically waves his good arm, gesturing with a pained expression at the brazen figure currently wreaking havoc inside the lab.

Doyoung follows his pointing, and feels his blood run cold. 

There, in the middle of a half-demolished section of the lab, is Mark Lee—poor, poor Mark Lee—smashing everything in sight with what appears to be the remnants of a lamp. There’s blood smeared around his lips and a wild, unhinged look in his eyes that Doyoung has never seen before. Broken glass and pieces of mangled electronics litter the floor around them, and the degree of damage only grows around Mark.

Clearly, the kid’s in no working state of mind.

Yuta huffs as he comes to a stop behind Doyoung. “What’s the plan?”

Doyoung curses and pulls out his whip from around his waist. “You got your boomerang with you?”

Yuta’s eyes blow wide. “You wanna kill the kid?!”

“No,” Doyoung grits out, immediately throwing an arm out in front of Yuta when Mark turns to them. “Distract him for me. I need an opening.”

“Well, you got it.” Yuta pulls out his safety gloves and secures them before bringing out his boomerang, the weapon light and sharp in his hands. “But it’s kinda crammed in here. What if I hit you?”

Doyoung shakes his head. “You won’t.” 

Yuta smiles at the certainty in his husband’s eyes, and the moment Mark dashes at them screaming bloody murder, he hurls the boomerang. The weapon flies past Mark’s head in a silver flash, and distracts the younger enough for Doyoung to move.

With one strong snap, the whip wraps around the neck of the lamp in Mark’s hand and Doyoung pulls it away easily, flinging the makeshift baton out of the way. Mark lets out an ungodly screech and turns to jump at Doyoung, but barely gets to move a meter before the boomerang is back, whizzing past his face and cutting off a lock of his hair as it goes.

“What the fuck?!” Mark screams, staggering back and snapping his head around the room. “What was that?”

Yuta catches the boomerang single-handedly and spins it around one finger. His eyes are apologetic but his voice is firm when he says, “A reminder of your boundaries, kid. Don’t take it personally.”

Mark doesn’t grace him with a reply, and grabs a nearby Erlenmeyer flask, flinging his arm back immediately.

“Nakamoto, duck!”

Yuta does as he’s told right as a coil of black whooshes over his head and shatters the flask just as it barely leaves Mark’s hand. And just as fast as it appears, the lash disappears, and Yuta jumps back a couple feet. 

Mark’s nostrils flare, and he lets out a low growl before bolting towards Yuta, who quickly sidesteps and throws his boomerang again, this time making a shallow cut over Mark’s jacket.

“Take it easy, kid.” Yuta’s eyes narrow as Mark howls and tries to move towards him again. “We don’t wanna hurt you.”

“Correction.” 

A tendril of black flashes from off the side, and Mark gasps as the whip meets his back in a sharp crack, the force of the hit sending him pitching down onto his hands and knees. Doyoung stands behind him, whip in hand and a dark glower on his face.

“Agent Nakamoto won’t hurt you, no matter the circumstances.” Doyoung brings his whip down again, and Mark yells as the strike lashes over his back. “But you should know this, Mark. Any harm towards other members of NCT won’t be tolerated. Not on my watch.” His gaze hardens as Mark turns to glare at him. “Even if it’s from you.”

Mark makes a move to jump up, but Doyoung lashes him again, knocking him to the side. “For your own good, I suggest you stay down.”

“Doyoung,” Yuta says. “I think that’s enough. He’s yielding.”

“Hm.” Doyoung glares down at Mark, who’s still staring back with that crazed, angry look in his eyes. “Mark Lee, do you know who I am?”

Mark shakes his head. “No, I don’t! Who are you people? Where the fuck am I?”

“He’s completely gone,” Yuta laments, his lips turning down sadly.

“Well, when you wake up again, I’m sure we’ll have plenty of time to get reacquainted,” Doyoung says calmly. “Will you come with us peacefully, Mark?”

“Never,” Mark growls.

“At least your attitude is still the same when fighting.” Doyoung’s voice softens a little. “I’m sorry, kid. I really am.”

Before Mark can even open his mouth to say anything else, a needle stabs him in the side of the neck, and he immediately goes limp.

Jeno backs away shakily, syringe dropping from his hands and into an open sharps container as he looks down at the unconscious agent before him.

“It’s—it’s just sedatives,” he explains as the others begin exiting the panic room to join them. “I asked Chenle. We got something safe. He’ll be out until the next day.”

Doyoung sighs. "Good."

“My LAB!” Chenle bawls. “My burners! My glassware! My _lamp_!”

“Lele, can’t we all just be glad we’re all alive?” Jaemin grumbles as he steps up with Jungwoo by his side. “And can’t you be grateful you’re the only one out of us who didn’t get brutalized?”

“B-but, BUT—” Chenle waves his arms at the destruction around him. “MY LAB!”

“The damages will be repaired by the agency,” Taeyong assures, patting the tech gently on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about it, Chenle.”

“I could’ve had something explosive or poisonous lying around!”

Taeyong’s eyes widen. “Excuse me?”

Chenle ignores him completely. “Someone could’ve died!”

“Someone’s always about to die,” Jeno says unenthusiastically. “It’s why I even have a job.”

Doyoung looks down at Mark, then up at Yuta. His husband gives him a little shrug, boomerang still in hand.

“Those were some pretty sick moves you guys pulled, though!” Donghyuck exclaims, hand still over his nose, which Doyoung just knows is bleeding. “Harsh as hell, but sick! I’ve waited so long to see Mark’s ass handed to him!”

“Donghyuck,” Taeyong scolds warningly.

“What? Did I lie?”

“No, but you’re in no place to talk,” Doyoung snaps. “All of you need to go to the infirmary.”

Jeno nods. “Okay. I’ll go prepare some—”

Doyoung shakes his head. “No. You’re concussed. I’ll call Kunhang to take over for you.”

“But I—”

“No buts.”

Taeyong huffs out a little laugh. “Very assertive, Agent Kim. Are you trying to take my job from me?”

“Chief Director, you got bit in the leg twice by your own agent who’s on psychedelic drugs. You can't pay me enough to be in your position right now,” Doyoung deadpans.

Taeyong blinks owlishly, at a loss for words. Jungwoo’s hands fly over his mouth to stifle a laugh. Jaemin and Yuta, who have noticeably less inhibition, start cracking up. Chenle and Jeno stand with their mouths hanging open, looking scandalized.

“Oooooooh, BURN!” Donghyuck hollers, spraying Jeno’s white lab coat with specks of blood. “Get rekt, Chief!”

Jaemin gapes at him. “You did not just say that to the Chief.”

Donghyuck cackles. “I did! Say, Chief, maybe you should get a rabies shot too while you're at it.”

Jeno pulls out a tissue from his pocket and stuffs it in Donghyuck’s mouth. “Be quiet.”

“And move,” Doyoung adds, giving Donghyuck a light shove towards the door. “C’mon, out. Yuta, give me a hand with Mark.”

Everyone files out of the lab steadily, with Doyoung and Yuta bringing in the rear, Mark propped over Doyoung’s shoulder.

“I can’t believe you really whipped Mark,” Donghyuck mumbles as he pulls the tissue out from his mouth. “He’ll never live this down.”

“I can’t believe he reacted the way he did,” Yuta says. “Poor kid. Hopefully he won’t remember any of this when he wakes up.”

“He probably won’t,” Jeno assures. “Hallucinogen trips tend to mess up your head like that.”

“Plus, you beat him up pretty good,” Jungwoo quips. “Will he be bedridden afterwards?”

“I didn’t whip him that hard, he’ll be fine.” Doyoung gives Mark back a gentle tap. “If I really wanted to hurt him, he wouldn't be in one piece right now. Worst thing, he’ll just be sore for a couple days.”

Jaemin turns and beams at him. “You still keep the laser whip with you?”

“Of course.”

“Is that the one you used on Mark?”

“Of course not.”

“Considering how nuts he was I was afraid you might actually pull it out,” Jaemin says. “Watching you two fight never gets old, though.”

Chenle nods, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “Yeah. Your combat chemistry is insane.” He pauses. “Pun intended.”

Yuta turns and gives Doyoung’s elbow a light bump. “Well, you know how we roll. Whatever doesn’t kill us—”

Doyoung grins as he nudges his elbow back. “—better start praying.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whee~ thanks for sticking thru the ride with me! Hope y'all enjoyed it, and stay safe! (^v^)

**Author's Note:**

> Yee :)
> 
> [cc](https://curiouscat.me/Cydersyrup)  
> [twt](https://twitter.com/Cydersyrup)


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